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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656220">A Darkness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_slug/pseuds/big_slug'>big_slug</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Darkness [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Lonnie Byers, Alternate Universe, Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lonnie Byers Being an Asshole, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, New Kid Mike Wheeler, Others Mentioned - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:47:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,616</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/big_slug/pseuds/big_slug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a boy who has never had any friends is saved by the new kid? Someone who is hiding a dark past?<br/>Will Byers needs saving. And he would not ask about secrets. He would ignore them, for friendship's sake.</p><p>Two alternative endings will exist as separate works.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lonnie Byers &amp; Will Byers, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Darkness [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Right... I'm starting something new here, though I know I shouldn't. There is unfinished stuff to complete. But this fic is actually finished, and I'm just going to release a chapter a day from now on and keep writing for whatever fic needs finishing. Let's see if any of you actually enjoy it.</p><p>Until now I've always written in present tense, but every new fic I'm posting from now on will be past tense. Don't ask me about this change of mind, it just happened. Obviously, I'm not going to do the switch in fics that have already started. That would be weird.</p><p>For today, you're getting a prologue. A little teaser if you will. More tomorrow.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Under a pitch black sky the boy stumbled. He could have ran, he could have sprinted. He was feeling the strongest he had felt in months, but as always, it was a hollow strength. The price had been too high again. He could feel tears picking on his eyes, having long accepted the fact that it would never get any easier; that accidents would happen, and that it would always hurt, each and every time.</p><p> </p><p>The boy was sick of it. Words could not describe the hate he felt for himself that very moment - and the resignation that came with the knowledge that he was powerless. The thickly gnarled root of an ancient tree stopped his venture at once - he fell, lay down on the ground facing the dark cabin that lay lifeless behind him. Feeling the dead eyes that were its black windows judging him. The boy sobbed.</p><p> </p><p>Longing for a mother whose face he could not remember, he reached for his belt, for the spot from where a comforting chill spread across his pale skin. Often, many times over the years, he had wondered what she looked like - what she would say to him if she could see him now. Would she tell him not to worry? That it would be alright and that she loves him, because that‘s what mothers do? Or would she hate him for what he was?</p><p> </p><p>Wondering was no use. The boy would never know. But he at least imagined that he would be able to see her in the few short seconds between the searing pain and the light that would come after. <em>‚You‘re just making it worse!‘ </em>a voice shouted silently from inside of him. <em>‚The sacrifice will be wasted. Walk! Run! Leave this place and never come back, like all the other times before! But show some respect!‘</em></p><p> </p><p>He could not listen to it any longer. Again, his heart was filled with false hope when he set the barrel of the revolver to his temple. There were no stars in the overcast sky when he looked up. No little lights to pierce the darkness that would soon descend from there and engulf him for good.</p><p> </p><p>The boy, the <em>monster</em>, could still feel the stolen warmth when he pulled the trigger - when he decided to never feel anything again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Leave a comment if you don't mind. Regular chapters will be longer.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With this fic I could put a trigger warning with every single chapter (I think), so please just look at the tags. They tell you everything you need to know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An odd feeling went with him on his way to school. Not the pain. Not the nausea; it felt like he was being followed. Hell, as if he didn‘t have enough problems already. He spied over his shoulder from time to time, never to find anyone there though, and every time that happened, he shook his head and continued on his way.</p><p> </p><p>There was no need to hurry now. Being twenty minutes late wasn‘t any worse than being five minutes late - Will Byers knew this from experience. Still he dreaded the stares more than any punishment. Certain people didn‘t have to be reminded of his existence, that much he knew, again, from too much painful experience. He might have gotten through the day just fine if it hadn‘t been for his own stupid clumsiness. Detention could be a godsend today if he really thought about it.</p><p> </p><p>„Hurry up with those eggs, boy!“ his dad snarled at him that morning. A far cry from the worst he was capable of, his tone immediately made it clear to Will that he was not in the mood for messing around. And of course, nervous, shaky Will plastered the kitchen floor with freshly made scrambled eggs like the <em>retarded piece of junk </em>that his father saw in him.</p><p> </p><p>„Your useless mother did the right thing when she decided to kick the bucket! Don‘t look at me like that! Clean my fucking floor right now you sissy!“</p><p> </p><p>Getting all these little globs of egg back on the plate would have been hard enough, but the belt made it worse. It always made things worse. Will just hoped he wouldn‘t be bleeding through his shirt at school - but dad was usually so careful. Never in the face. When Will got up, his back turned into a battleground of bruises and welts, he wanted to dump the eggs in the trashcan.</p><p> </p><p>„Aren‘t you hungry, boy?“ dad hissed. „If you‘ve done your chores, the floor should be clean enough to eat from. Eat up, or you‘re not getting anything for a week.“</p><p> </p><p>So, Will ate. He ate the cold eggs, he ate the grime from the dirty kitchen floor, all the little hairs and bitter crumbs of breakfasts and lunches long gone. It took twenty minutes, and in the end, before Will barely had the time to feel the nausea, dad just remarked „Better hurry up if you want to be at school in time.“</p><p> </p><p>So then it was clear that he wouldn‘t get a ride today. Which was why he was now sneaking into Hawkins Middle School twenty minutes late, hoping to at least not be caught by a hall monitor. Maybe Mister Clarke would let things slide - though Will wouldn‘t bet on it, seeing as he was late for the third time this month already. His cheeks were just beginning to heat up after the long walk in the October cold. He knew they were fiery-red. His hands were numb and half-dead because he had to carry his backpack with them, his shoulders having been rendered useless for that purpose for at least two days.</p><p> </p><p>Will made it through the empty halls undisturbed by anyone. He knocked on the classroom door. „Come in.“ Will could hear from the other side of it.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn‘t Mister Clarke he saw first. It was the class. Several people giving each other mischievous grins tinged in a sort of evil glee that dropped stones in his stomach. Nobody said a word. The silence was deafening. „E-Excuse me, sir.“ Will stuttered, much to the amusement of boys like <em>Troy </em>and his ‚associates‘. His stomach tightened further because the silence was so deafening. „I h-had to walk b-because my d-dad‘s car wouldn‘t start.“</p><p> </p><p>Mister Clarke, standing there with the long wiry pointer still directed at the board, blinked a few times. He was a smart man, and well-meaning too, and he definitely didn‘t believe Will‘s lie. „Alright, William.“ he finally said. „You know I‘m going to have to write you up. Come to me after class and we‘ll talk. For now, please sit down.“ He wasn‘t smiling, instead scrutinizing Will gravely. Mister Clarke made the necessary note and then continued with his lesson about the human brain, sadly with a bit less enthusiasm than Will was used from him. He could feel the stares in the back of his head. He knew things could still go south from here.</p><p> </p><p>„Is there anything you want to tell me, William?“ Mister Clarke asked once everyone had left the classroom.</p><p> </p><p>Will swallowed thickly. „I‘m really sorry, sir. It won‘t happen again.“ he said.</p><p> </p><p>„No, I mean, is there anything you have to get off your chest? Look, Will, I know you and your father aren‘t particularly... well, you‘re not swimming in money. But even when I was a broke college student my car would start. Or at least it wouldn‘t fail me three times in a single month. So, what does that leave us with?“</p><p> </p><p>Nervously, heart thumping, Will averted his gaze. He was just too tired, too sick, to realize that he had made the same excuse for a third time, when he could have probably thought of something more believable. „It‘s an old car.“ he whispered. He could feel his racing pulse in the swollen welts on his back. „Mister Clarke, I‘m- I‘m not feeling well. I really have to go to the bathroom, I-“</p><p> </p><p>Mister Clarke heaved a sigh. „Alright. Alright. I‘m sure we‘ll find another opportunity to talk a little more. I‘ll pass on detention this time, so just consider yourself lucky that you didn‘t have to deal with Misses McManus this morning.“</p><p> </p><p>„T-Thank you, sir.“ Will said on his way out. He hadn‘t even lied - he felt sick to the bone. His stomach was churning, doing flips in all directions, about ready to spill. He just had to make it to the bathroom in time. Two corners. He knew he could make it, unless-</p><p> </p><p>„Byers!“ The boy was suddenly in his way, and he wasn‘t alone. Troy and two of his cronies, and there was no getting past them for now. „Come to me after class and we‘ll talk.“ Troy imitated Mister Clarke. „Teacher‘s pet. Getting a free pass like no one else, huh? How many days of detention did he give you? None? That‘s odd. I remember being five minutes late and spending the rest of the week in detention. How does that work?“</p><p> </p><p>„Troy, I‘m sorry!“ Will pleaded at the side of a raised fist. He couldn‘t hold it much longer. „I‘m sorry! I really gotta go! I‘ll do your homework for a month if you just let me-“</p><p> </p><p>The blow hit with the force of a jackhammer, and Will sank to his knees, clutching his belly as though he had just been shot. He might as well have been. And then, his stomach gave in. The sour stench of vomit hung thickly in the air after just a second, and half-digested eggs, hair and dirt seeped through Troy‘s shoes. Naturally, teachers were never around to see these things. Not once in Will‘s short life, and so he was at Troy‘s mercy. Or he would have been if he hadn‘t run. And Will did run, as fast as the new wave of nausea allowed him. He could hear screams from behind him, hasty footsteps, but he made it outside.</p><p> </p><p>He only stalled for a few seconds - just because the sight of a black-haired boy staring at him from a few feet away brought him even more out of balance than he already was. A tense moment followed during which he just looked into the boy‘s dark eyes. Will had never seen him before, but then again, one couldn‘t be expected to know every student at their school. An invisible force seemed to keep him in place for a while. Then, the boy awkwardly cleared his throat. „You’re heading the wrong way.“ he said. „I think the next period is about to start.“</p><p> </p><p>The sheer uselessness of his words made Will snap out of his paralysis. Troy was probably still after him, and while he hopefully wouldn‘t leave the school, Will wasn‘t far enough away yet to be entirely safe. „Leave me alone...“ he said, and just made a run for it.</p><p> </p><p>For as long as he was still in view of the school‘s entrance, Will could feel the kid‘s eyes on him. He even turned around once right before leaving the parking lot, just to find that boy still looking after him. His face was hard to make sense of at that distance. Curious. Bewildered. No doubt, he knew that Will was looking at him again. His unusually thick, dark lips twitched in a tiny smile, almost invisible, but for some reason meant for Will. The boy waved as though seeing a student flee the school after first period was normal. Will didn‘t wave back - he just continued running, hitting his backpack, that was dangling from his right hand with his knees, painfully.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Why do I keep torturing Will?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will wasn‘t stupid. He was well aware that things would catch up with him. The school did call, but Will didn‘t answer the phone, and his dad only came home after ten at night, too drunk to walk straight. For as little as he cared, had he found out about the day‘s mess, he would have beat Will into next week, or straight into oblivion. Just because he usually didn‘t respond well to being bothered with Will‘s life. Will served him dinner and kept out of his dad‘s hair otherwise, and he considered himself lucky that he got a few hours of undisturbed sleep that night.</p><p> </p><p>The next day was bad. People had seen him throw up, obviously, and that at least excused his absence to some degree, but of course no one had seen Troy punch him in the stomach. „You should have gone to the school nurse, William.“ Mister Clarke told him, to which Will nodded, head lowered. He was in a terrible situation now - he would be safe with Mister Clarke, but ultimately had to run away from him at the end of the lesson to avoid more questions, which in turn meant that he had to find another hiding spot from Troy. Will failed miserably at that. All things considered, he only made it worse by hiding behind the dumpsters in the back of the schoolhouse during every break, because with the woods of Hawkins surrounding the place, no one was around to help him.</p><p> </p><p>„I knew I‘d find you here, Byers.“ Troy sneered during lunch break. People were in the cafeteria, not a soul could be seen outside. No one but Will and Troy Walsh. And Will realized, with rising panic, that had put himself in the corner. There was a mad glint to Troy‘s eyes, one that was reflected in his switchblade knife. „Those were really expensive shoes, you know. Got the belt from my old man because they‘re full of your fucking puke, you little fag. How about you pay him back?“</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, Will felt his racing mind trying to deal with the idea of death. He could die out here. There was that chance, and he knew were he was heading, too. „I‘ll pay him back.“ Will breathed. He would have said anything, done anything, because the kiss of a blade wasn‘t something he had felt before. Did he wet his pants? Perhaps... he‘d have to check later, if there was a <em>later </em>for him.</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s gonna be fifty bucks, dipshit.“</p><p> </p><p>„Fifty bucks, I got it.“ Will said without knowing where he could get that kind of money. He didn‘t get any allowance, and fifty dollars was about half of what his dad made in one week at his job as a part-time forklift driver.</p><p> </p><p>„Why don‘t you...“ Troy closed in, and Will stepped back to feel the cold metal of the dumpster. „...let me give you a little reminder. I‘m not gonna be mean. Shirt up.“</p><p> </p><p>„T-Troy please...“ Will sobbed when it dawned on him what was going to happen. „Please don‘t. I‘ll get you the money tomorrow if you want me to. Just don‘t-“ But his shirt was ripped up, and Will didn‘t fight it. He didn‘t fight it when the tip of the blade cut into the sensitive skin of his stomach - all he did was cry. With five cuts, Troy marked his skin with a blood-red, spidery 5. And four more unbearable cuts produced a 0. Will was already about to faint, Troy going to work on the Dollar-sign, when something happened that changed everything.</p><p> </p><p>It was all over so quickly. Something, no <em>someone</em> jumped behind the dumpster with a growl that could have been a rabid dog‘s. Fingers tangled with Troy‘s hair from behind, and a second later his head was smashed into the brick wall. As if Will hadn‘t already seen enough blood for one day, but at least this time it wasn‘t his own. Troy didn‘t stumble, because Will‘s savior didn‘t let him. Instead, his skull collided with the wall two more times, spilling red all over the dirty ground.</p><p> </p><p>Will recognized the boy - the same one he had seen just lingering there by the school entrance the day before. He didn‘t have much time to process. The black-haired boy picked up the knife from the ground where Troy was now lying, spasming and gargling. He held the tip right under the bully‘s chin, poking just lightly. „You‘re lucky that I‘m better than you.“ he said darkly. „I could kill you now, leave your corpse in that dumpster, and I‘d get away with it. Now listen carefully, because I‘m only going to tell you this once. Leave him alone. Leave <em>everyone</em> alone, or you‘re dead. And I mean <em>dead, </em>as in your mommy will have to go coffin shopping. Apologize.“</p><p> </p><p>Troy gargled up bloody spit that foamed at his mouth and ran down to either side of his face.</p><p> </p><p>„Apologize!“ the boy screamed.</p><p> </p><p>„M‘sorry.“ Troy said under great effort.</p><p> </p><p>„Good. You mention anything to <em>anyone</em>, and I kill you. I‘ll keep this, if you don‘t mind.“ Will‘s savior retracted the blade and slipped the knife in his pocket. He then smiled at Will. „Let‘s get out of here, yeah?“</p><p> </p><p>„Uh, yeah.“ Will said without thinking. On autopilot he stepped over the only half-conscious Troy. There was now a puddle of blood under his head, and a little trickle came from the spot under his chin. Like a mindless puppy he walked after the boy, who was headed straight for the woods as though that was the most reasonable thing to do. „I can‘t just leave. I mean, school and-“</p><p> </p><p>„Screw school. You‘re on lunch break.“ the boy said lightly. „Your name is Byers?“</p><p> </p><p>„Y-Yeah. Will.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m Mike. Wheeler. And seeing as I just saved you, you could at least do a little something for me. Don‘t worry, nothing drastic.“</p><p> </p><p><em>Great</em>, Will thought. He was following the boy who had almost killed Troy, who now had the knife, into the woods - and worse, he didn‘t really intend to stop and head back. „What could I do for you? I mean, thank you, but you... you can fend for yourself, right?“</p><p> </p><p>The boy, <em>Mike</em>, stopped suddenly to turn around. He looked lenient now, there might have even been fondness to his gaze. „I‘m sorry I didn‘t get to you earlier. We gotta disinfect that. I‘m just gonna sleep better tonight if you let me do this.“</p><p> </p><p>Will really didn‘t want the school nurse to see the <em>50 </em>carved into his belly. Too many question. But it hurt too much to just ignore it until he got home to use dad‘s booze on it. „You live on the south side of town?“ he said.</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah.“ Mike said. „We moved in two weeks ago.“ He started walking again, Will following suit.</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s why I haven‘t seen you in school, huh?“</p><p> </p><p>„Right. You‘re, uh, you‘re not gonna see me at school. I‘m being home schooled.“</p><p> </p><p>The house was an utter mansion, as was to be expected from a place in these parts of Hawkins. Wealthy people lived here. And this family, the Wheelers, seemed to stand out among these wealthy people. Will distinctly remembered Mike‘s house, the largest one on Maple Street, being a ruin just a few months ago. Or at least abandoned. Now it was like new, white and with intact windows, with the cleanest upstairs bathroom Will had ever seen - and with two TVs and VHS players. Completely unheard of in his world.</p><p> </p><p>„My parents didn‘t really buy it. My dad grew up here.“ Mike explained. „Had it renovated in the summer. Stay still.“</p><p> </p><p>Will hissed but kept still when Mike worked the cotton pad soaked in alcohol across the cuts Troy had left him with. „They‘re not home?“ Will asked. „What do they do for a living?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike grinned, shrugging. He finished his ministrations to Will‘s stomach. „Something that makes them lots of money. They‘re rarely ever home. The longest I‘ve gone without seeing them was... huh, a month, I guess.“</p><p> </p><p>It was hard to wrap his head around this. Mike was about the same age as Will, no older than thirteen. Had he been sixteen, okay, but who would leave their son alone for a month? <em>Well, who would make his son eat dirt off the ground?</em> Will wouldn‘t judge. „But you said they home school you?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike grinned some more. „By that I meant they buy me the books and leave me to it. Hey, are you hungry? I got leftovers from last night. Pork chop. I‘m a pretty good cook, you know, and I guess you‘ve skipped on school lunch?“</p><p> </p><p>Will checked his watch. „I‘ve got about half an hour to get back to school. I‘ll... yeah, I‘ll have something. Thanks.“</p><p> </p><p>He didn‘t know what to think of Mike. Was he dangerous? No, not really. Will was pretty sure he wouldn‘t have killed Troy. Was he a good cook? Definitely. Will had a lot to learn in that regard. Maybe Mike could teach him some; Will‘s dad would ‚appreciate‘ it, meaning fewer beatings.</p><p> </p><p>Will returned to school still in pain, but full and relieved. Troy was nowhere to be seen, and he wouldn‘t bother Will again any time soon. The rest of the day went by with the knowledge that Mike would be waiting for him in the parking lot that afternoon. For his remaining periods, Will wondered if he had made a friend today.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love protective Mike. I really do.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„What do you do for fun, Will?“ Mike asked him as they strolled along the same path in the woods they had taken earlier that day. „It‘s been a while since I‘ve lived in a small town like Hawkins.“ The weather had shifted a little, with a light but cold October rain tapping on their faces. The trees did little to hold it off.</p><p> </p><p>„Sometimes... sometimes I go to the movies. Y‘know, I mow some lawns for money and then see what they‘re showing at the Hawk.“ Will didn‘t want Mike to get the wrong idea about him. He was poor, Mike was wealthy. Better get that out of the way before he got attached to this boy. There were people who thought less of Will‘s kind, and maybe for a good reason. He had never heard of a wealthy father being so... well, troubled.</p><p> </p><p>But Mike didn‘t seem to mind at all. „That‘s cool. Next time something good is on, I‘ll invite you. What‘s your genre? You‘re a nerd, right?“ He picked up a stick from the ground, absently swirled it around like a sword.</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah. I guess science fiction? Horror, maybe. Freddy Kruger is pretty cool. I didn‘t like Halloween, though.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike flashed another one of these grins that were just contagious. „Nothing beats the supernatural. How about Star Wars?“ He found another stick of the same length and passed it to Will, who didn‘t really know what to do with it - until Mike did a shockingly good lightsaber sound impression and pointed his own stick right at Will‘s face. „If you only knew the power of the dark side...“</p><p> </p><p>Will didn‘t waste time; He gave Mike‘s stick a good backhand, sent him spinning like that, and dropped his backpack on the ground. Mike was exaggerating with his stumbling, but that gave Will time to test his strength a bit. His belly hurt like hell, so he had to make sure not to raise his hand above his head. His punished back just helped him remember that.</p><p> </p><p>Mike seemed to remember too, because the duel that ensued was definitely not as fierce as he could have made it. He was fast - incredibly so, but Will stood his ground and even managed to push the other boy back. They strayed from the path and into the woods. Their sticks clashed with sharp <em>clacks</em>, though whenever he wasn‘t too out of breath, Mike kept the lightsaber sounds up. The more Will moved, the less it hurt.</p><p> </p><p>He found himself spinning around like a proper force user who could predict his opponent‘s every move, swinging at Mike and dodging his blows. He landed a hit to his shin. „Dammit!“ Mike hissed.</p><p> </p><p>Will laughed. He jumped back. „Let‘s see how you handle yourself with just one leg.“</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, Mike obediently continued the fight on just one leg. The uneven ground didn‘t make this easy. He hobbled back and forth, dangerously close to losing his balance. „Is mutilating people and then making fun of them the Jedi way?“</p><p> </p><p>„Shut up and fight!“ Will said. He gave Mike a little time to adjust, but not too much. He still had his almost superhuman speed. Having only one leg just meant that he had to struggle even more furiously. Even in that state, he managed to remain offensive. One blow came from above, and the next landed from the side or below, with Will barely having time to block them all.</p><p> </p><p>Will looked to seize an opportunity to strike, and he found one. His attack was stupidly executed, though - so hesitant and slow, it would have meant his demise in a real stand-off against Darth Vader. Lucky for him, Mike wasn‘t looking to kill, because once Will swung his lightsaber at the raven-haired boy‘s unprotected shoulder, he felt a push on his own shoulder. The sheer force of it sent him tumbling a few feet away from Mike, losing his orientation. The forest spun around him in a blur two or three times, and with a <em>thump</em>, Will landed flat on his ass.</p><p> </p><p>„M-Mike?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike was gone. The forest was as quiet as a graveyard on a rainy day. No trace was left. None that Will could see in his utter confusion, anyways. And confused he was - he got up, his body screaming on protest. „Mike!“ he called out. „Mike!“ Will listened... Nothing. Was he hiding? Maybe behind a tree, ready to jump out and finish Will off? Or had Mike just tripped him over to go home, having decided that Will wasn‘t worth spending time with?</p><p> </p><p>Will resigned to the latter. Of course Mike had already grown tired of him. No one could be expected to stand Will‘s presence for more than a few minutes, obviously. Not even his own mother. He hung his head. He dropped his stick. He trotted back to the path. „I got you now.“ Will heard a low voice just as he was passing a particularly thick tree. As he spun around, startled, Mike was there hanging upside down from a thick branch. He had his stick pointed right at Will‘s face. The glint of devious joy was wiped from his eyes in a second. „Will! What‘s wrong?“ In a shocking display of acrobatic skill, Mike landed on his feet.</p><p> </p><p>Will shrugged. „Thought you‘d left. Wanted to go home.“</p><p> </p><p>„Fucking hell, why would I leave? This was fun!“ Mike looked seriously offended and hurt in his pride.</p><p> </p><p>„I just thought...“ Will said. „Forget it. Doesn‘t matter what I thought.“</p><p> </p><p>They stood there for a second, both obviously unsure how to proceed. Will instinctively wiped at his burning eyes before realizing how pathetic that looked. It was Mike who broke the silence. „It‘s getting a bit chilly out here. Want to warm up and watch TV?“</p><p> </p><p>Will did his best to hide his sudden excitement; He wasn‘t usually allowed to watch TV. Actually, he was just allowed in the living room to clean up, so when he decided to break that rule in the afternoon, he always had to make sure to switch off soon enough so that the TV wouldn‘t be warm anymore when his dad came home. He also did his best not the be blown away <em>again </em>by the size of Mike‘s house. Or the fact that this was a color TV, and a huge one too.</p><p> </p><p>The show was some police drama. It depicted heroes in blue driving fast cars on the highway. High speed chases. An array of cool quotes to remember. „Man, I‘m glad I don‘t have to watch this alone.“ Mike remarked. He took a sip from his coke. „I‘ve been stuck in here for two weeks, man. I don‘t care if my dad comes from here, I don‘t know shit about this town.“</p><p> </p><p>„Didn‘t you go out at all?“ Will questioned. He found that hard to believe.</p><p> </p><p>„I mean, I found the movie theater, a few stores and stuff, but I really don‘t need to buy anything other than groceries, and going to the movies alone is pathetic-“ Mike stalled, coughed, and then looked at Will with an unspoken apology in his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>Will smiled at him. „I know it‘s pathetic Mike. But... people usually don‘t want to be around me.“</p><p> </p><p>„The hell does that mean?“ Mike asked.</p><p> </p><p>„I sort of get on everyone‘s nerves after a while. I... I really try not to. And I‘m, like, poor. I can‘t pay my way into anything that would be fun, so I either just mow lawns or... walk around, I guess.“</p><p> </p><p>„Did anyone ever claim that you‘re annoying?“</p><p> </p><p>„Mostly my dad.“ Will shrugged. „I‘m actually not supposed to leave my room when I‘m home, but he usually goes drinking after work, so I‘m good until nine or ten. Still try to stay out as much as I can.“</p><p> </p><p>„Jeez, sounds like he‘s a piece of shit.“ Mike said.</p><p> </p><p>Now, this did infuriate Will. Because honestly, where would he be without his dad? <em>Where? </em>Out there in the rain, with literally nothing to eat, nothing to wear, no roof over his head. „Don‘t say that! We just got to make ends meet! What, you think he doesn‘t give me any allowance because he doesn‘t <em>want </em>to?“ Of course his dad didn‘t want to. Will was kidding himself, because what else was he supposed to do?</p><p> </p><p>„Will...“ Mike, hands raised, scooted further away from him on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m just saying, not everyone can afford-“ Will gestured at everything and nothing in the room. What was he doing? Did he really just start an argument with the boy who could become his first friend ever?</p><p> </p><p>But Mike was more indulgent than Will deserved. „Hey, let‘s... let‘s just not talk about it, okay?“ He roughly patted Will‘s shoulder, only narrowly missing the still sore and swollen welts there. „Just keep track of time so you‘re not late... want some chips?“</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't you think that Will deserves all the love in the world?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„Hey, look what I got here. Found these in the garage. Honestly, I didn‘t know they were even there.“</p><p> </p><p>Will was perched on an armchair in Mike‘s house on a Friday afternoon that was sunnier than it had any right to be during this time of year. He was tired, though, tired from a week of school and serving dinner at ten at night or later. His back was only now beginning to feel alright again, the cuts on his stomach having healed quite a bit as well. He would bear the scars forever - perhaps with stitches this could have been prevented. He lazily turned his head. For a good ten minutes Will had listened to Mike rummaging around downstairs where the basement met the garage.</p><p> </p><p>„Aren‘t they awesome?“ Mike said, triumphantly presenting the two skateboards. „You know how to skate?“</p><p> </p><p>„No.“ Will said.</p><p> </p><p>„I don‘t either. Want to figure it out?“</p><p> </p><p>Did Will want to try? He was scared shitless of falling, that much he knew. Having a fair share of experience with pain, he usually tried to avoid it if he could. At least he didn‘t bring himself in harm‘s way on purpose. On the other hand, he was still new to this. Having a friend. Seeing as he had known Mike for only a couple of days, he couldn‘t just shoot down his suggestion like that. Will shrugged. „Why not? Got any protectors? Knee pads and stuff?“</p><p> </p><p>„Pff, who needs those?“ Mike laughed. „Don‘t have any, don‘t want any. Same as these newfangled airbags. C‘mon. We‘re going to live like heroes or die like men. Which one for you? The Hulk or Spider Man?“</p><p> </p><p>Will squinted his eyes at the skateboards. „I don‘t care. No one‘s gonna see the graphics on these anyways.“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘re so ripped, you‘re definitely a Hulk-guy. Here.“ Mike carelessly threw the one with the Hulk on the underside of it at Will. He managed to catch it just in time before it could smash his face in.</p><p> </p><p>„Screw you. Ugh. Okay, let‘s go before I end up getting cold feet.“</p><p> </p><p>Grinning, Mike led the way. The Wheeler house was situated right in the reversing loop of a dead end street, so there was absolutely no traffic to speak of. „Okay I‘ll try to just stand on it first.“ Will announced. He set the skateboard on the ground to see if it was going to roll in any direction, and only stepped on it when he found it did not. What he wasn‘t prepared for was how wobbly this felt. He had seen people skating occasionally - leaning to either side was the means of steering. Though he had no idea it would lean quite that far.</p><p> </p><p>Mike was having less problems. He kept his upper body straight while leaning the board with just his feet. Will tried to imitate this, but it took a few minutes to get it down. „Okay, this is easy.“ Mike said. „Too easy. Let‘s try to roll around for a while, yeah?“</p><p> </p><p>„And you really don‘t know where these come from? Just saying, I‘d remember if anyone had bought me a skateboard.“ Will said, partly to stall and get a little more time to adjust. „You don‘t have any siblings, do you?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike hadn‘t yet started kicking the ground. He sharply turned around with a speed that startled Will. His eyes were oddly cold the way they seemingly turned to a lighter shade of brown. „No.“ he said in a voice that had all the little hairs on Will‘s body standing at attention. „I‘m an only child.“ He breathed heavily through a tense pause. „Does it look like my parents have time for another kid? No, really. I pray to god they use protection when they fuck. If they fuck. From what I know they could be sleeping in separate beds by now.“</p><p> </p><p>This had Will cringing. Offending Mike really was the last thing he‘d had in mind, so he tried to let it go by not answering to that. Though he still wondered what would be worse; A loveless marriage, or a dead wife and a bottle of whiskey a day. „I think I‘m getting better at this!“ Will kicked the ground hard to gather speed, then leaned in a way that had him circling on the asphalt. It was getting easier.</p><p> </p><p>He attempted to do an 8-shape next, but that did not go well. For the first loop, everything seemed okay. Then, right at the apex, Will knew he had to lean in the other direction now. His upper body did that, while his feet remained angled in the wrong direction, sending him further on his circular path. He landed on his ass hard, which Mike only noticed when he had completed another circle.</p><p> </p><p>He was half-amused, half-concerned when he came to a stumbling stop in front of Will. „You alright? Didn‘t break your tailbone, I hope.“</p><p> </p><p>„I fucking hope that too.“ Will hissed. He let Mike help him up. As not to appear weak, he immediately jumped on his skateboard again.</p><p> </p><p>„So eager.“ Mike grinned. „Alright. A race to the end of the street and back, if you‘re feeling up to it.“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘re merciless, you know that? Give me a second.“ Once again getting used to the feeling of not having solid ground under his shoes, Will massaged his hurting ass. The pain wasn‘t too bad - what‘s more, Will realized that his fall had greatly improved his confidence. What was there to fear, anyways? A few bruises? Scars? Will had plenty of those, and all of them had stopped hurting after a while. „Hey!“</p><p> </p><p>Contemplating this, Will realized too late that Mike had already taken off. „Get moving, slowpoke!“ It was hard to make up for lost time, but Will tried anyways. He put all his strength into his kicks until the asphalt below his skateboard turned into a charcoal blur. He thanked god for the good condition the street was in. A pothole would have been lethal. Faster and faster the houses flew by, and Will found himself not caring about winning the race at all. This was fun. This was <em>awesome</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He had to kick less once a small decline helped him keep his speed up and even catch up with Mike a little more. Something about air resistance, being the smaller boy. Mike gave him a foxy smirk over his shoulder. „Faster!“</p><p> </p><p>And Will kicked the ground. „Uh, Mike...“ he shouted against the wind. Will was beginning to worry. The decline in the street became steeper by the second, to a point where it accelerated him dangerously. He couldn‘t stop.</p><p> </p><p>„Faster!“ Mike yelled again.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike, I can‘t stop!“</p><p> </p><p>„Then don‘t stop! Let‘s see where we end up!“</p><p> </p><p>„Mike!“ Will screamed, because the stop sign he saw down the street was coming closer at a good thirty miles per hour. „We‘ve got to stop!“ He contemplated jumping, though at this speed he wouldn‘t get away with a sore ass. He couldn‘t bring himself to. „Mike!“ They were barreling towards an intersection. And <em>cars were passing. </em></p><p> </p><p>Mike yelled his ridiculous joy into the wind, Will closed his eyes knowing that he would now die, or worse get crippled. Without Will seeing a thing, he felt a bump under the skateboard. Tires screeched, horns were honked, and then - nothing. Nothing but Mike still screaming „Woooohooo!“</p><p> </p><p>He was alive. Will was alive! And he was still moving at thirty or more down a street with cars parked to either side. He knew he had just given a few poor drivers a heart attack - and he laughed. He laughed like he had never laughed before, feeling the rush of living, of walking on the razor‘s edge. The bend came unexpected. The curb did too. And then, instead of skating, Mike and Will were flying through the air, head first into some front lawn.</p><p> </p><p>There was no pain, just adrenaline. Will couldn‘t stop laughing, even when he found he was bleeding from his mouth. Mike was bleeding too, his nose looking busted. His voice sounded oddly nasal too, but that didn‘t stop him from remarking „I think I won.“</p><p> </p><p>„You said to the end of the street and back. I think it‘s a draw.“</p><p> </p><p>„I fell first.“</p><p> </p><p>„Do we have to wrestle it out?“ Will said. „You almost got us killed!“ The way he caught Mike by surprise, jumping on him with a choke grip around his neck was <em>so </em>unlike him. Mike fought back almost immediately, rolling Will to his back. Blood from his nose dripped on Will‘s cheek, and he even got some in his eye.</p><p> </p><p>„I win.“ Mike hissed.</p><p> </p><p>„You wish!“ Will snapped back. He got his fingers entangled with the other boys hair, threw him to the ground and knelt on his chest triumphantly. „Say it!“</p><p> </p><p>„Okay... okay...“ Mike sighed. Will wasn‘t strong - it would have been easy for Mike to shake him off. „If you let me go so we can get some tissues... you win.“</p><p> </p><p>„I win.“ Will repeated. He grinned down at Mike. He grinned not because he‘d won - he did it because he was alive.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just like their dynamic is this...<br/>Edit: Jesus Christ I just saw the new teaser. It's... magnificent. I'm in tears and laughing like a maniac.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„What‘s the matter with you?“ To Will‘s relief, his dad seemed to enjoy Mike‘s pork chop recipe a lot. One less thing to worry about tonight. Drunk as usual, he dropped a few chunks on the table cloth asking Will that. He reeked of booze and beer and cigarette smoke, and he had his face stuffed with his dinner.</p><p> </p><p>„I... bit my tongue, sir.“ Will said, though it came out more like <em>‚thir‘</em> because of his lisp. The adrenaline had worn off eventually, and yes, his tongue did hurt like hell. He could keep it in check with a regular rinse of mouth wash or his dad‘s whiskey that he would then spit back into the bottle purely out of spite.</p><p> </p><p>„Oh yeah?“ his father chuckled, amused by the fact that he Will was in pain without another beating. „How?“ It appeared as though he was in a talkative mood tonight, usually a good sign as far as the belt or the flogger were concerned, but it also meant that Will would have to watch his mouth. He hated talking to his dad. Mistakes were too easy to make.</p><p> </p><p>Thinking quickly, he guessed that a lie would be in order. And then why not make it a good lie? One that would satisfy his dad. „Got into a fight.“ Will mumbled.</p><p> </p><p>„And? You win?“</p><p> </p><p>Will shrugged, trying to look humble. „The other guy‘s got more than a lisp. Maybe his nose is broken, I don‘t know. I‘m... not getting into trouble for it I think.“ His skin was crawling for the brief moment his dad looked at him with a dark glint in his bloodshot eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Then, relief. „Never thought you had it in you.“ His dad grinned before ruffling Will‘s hair roughly. „Just keep your mouth shut, you‘re getting on my nerves with that. And you know what people do when you get on their nerves. You got it?“</p><p> </p><p>Will was about to answer, but then decided to simply nod. It was better not to give him a reason. He dared to speak only to ask if he may be excused. „Go. But I swear if I find dirty dishes on the table in the morning...“</p><p> </p><p>Will understood this just too well. He would do the dishes on autopilot as always, and as such he didn‘t have to think about it. It were his dad‘s words from before that stuck when he sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands in the darkness. He switched on the bedside lamp, glad that the power bill had been paid for last month, and reached under his bed. <em>‚You know what people do when you get on their nerves.‘</em></p><p> </p><p>He had saved the photo from the trash a few years back and kept it hidden under his mattress since then. A personal reminder of his guilt. Mom... and Jonathan. Will never really got to know her. He didn‘t get to know his brother either. <em>‚Useless bitch let him drown in the bathtub.‘ </em>dad sometimes drunkenly hollered in the middle of the night. <em>‚But you, you were the last drop.‘ </em>By that he meant that, one day, he had found her in that same bathtub, filled with her own blood, and Will on the floor next to her, crying. <em>‚You just annoyed her to death with your crying that day</em>.<em>‘ </em></p><p> </p><p>Will had grown up with the knowledge of what he did. On his first day of kindergarten he‘d introduced himself to the others as though every kid had a past like this. <em>‚I‘m Will, I‘m five years old, and I‘m going to hell because I made my mommy kill herself.‘ </em>Oh, the parent-teacher conference this had caused. And the beating... Will‘s right ear had only worked half as well since then. He could still feel the thump of his own heartbeat in there eight years later. And he couldn‘t understand it back then - he thought telling the truth was what you were supposed to do. He had simply told them the truth.</p><p> </p><p>Even at five, he knew he would go to hell for it, and that was fine, really. To burn was what Will deserved. Maybe he was going through a change of perspective right now, though. He was going to hell. Definitely. Sooner or later. What point was there in letting his life be hell then? Would it make what would come after any less horrible, or any less deserved? The ultimate crime had already been committed.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m sorry.“ he told his mom. He did every night before going to sleep, just hoping that she could hear him. He never meant to cause any harm. Selfish... so selfish... Will switched off the lamp once again to wait in complete darkness. He sat there, listening closely to the sounds coming from the kitchen. A fork against a plate... the hiss of a beer can opening... then another a few minutes later... then another with the TV going in the background. More followed.</p><p> </p><p>The old pre-war alarm clock produced that eerie green Uranium glow, showing him that, eventually, there wasn‘t any sound but the TV for more than twenty minutes. So he dared to emerge from his room again. Dad was sleeping in his recliner, beer cans scattered on the floor. A few beers weren‘t enough to knock him out - they just lulled him to sleep gently after a bottle of whiskey.</p><p> </p><p>Will got to work on the dishes as quietly as he could, at least quieter than the TV was. He scooped up some of the leftovers for himself, but still found it hard to eat with his injured tongue. He really had to force himself, knowing that he needed it. Will also made a mental note to thank Mike for the recipe and maybe ask for more. After all, there wasn‘t one new bruise added to his collection tonight, and that was a rare occasion.</p><p> </p><p>After finishing the dishes, Will didn‘t feel tired at all. Instead, an idea was beginning to take shape in the back of his mind. His father never counted his cans. There wasn‘t a single day in the past year when he could remember the previous night clearly, as far as Will knew, so it was safe to search the fridge. And, bingo, there were several more six packs in there - more than there were groceries, of course.</p><p> </p><p>Will set off shortly before midnight on a fresh Friday night in October, scarf tight around his neck, six cans of beer hanging heavy from his hand.</p><p> </p><p>It was already worth it the second Mike‘s eyes lit up when he opened the door. And then they began sparkling like a Christmas tree when they found the six pack. „My parents aren‘t here.“ he said.</p><p> </p><p>„I know.“ They never were.</p><p> </p><p>„Didn‘t know you were such a rebel, Byers. Or is it just me? Am I bringing out this side of you?“ Mike looked so sly that moment that Will could almost mistake him as evil. As though he was finding a devious joy in this.</p><p><br/>„If only you knew how right you are.“ Will said. He wasn‘t being entirely truthful; This was by no means the first time he‘d snatched alcohol. The amount was what differed. Mike invited him in, and just ten minutes later the VHS was playing back a copy of <em>The Thing from Another World</em>, the 1951 movie, because Will had only seen John Carpenter‘s remake back when it was in theaters.</p><p> </p><p>„At some point-“ Mike burped, laughing. „At some point I‘m gonna introduce you to European beer.“</p><p> </p><p>„You got experience with that?“ Will did already relish the bitter sparkle of it as it was, as well as the sting on his busted tongue, and he knew he would get more of that with the stuff his dad refused to buy. The expensive European stuff Mike was talking about.</p><p> </p><p>As for Mike himself, his nose seemed fine. There was a bit of crusted blood left that he missed while cleaning himself, but Will‘s initial impression of a broken bone must have been imagination. The buzz set in after the first can. Fingertips and toes became numb and warm, the mood giggly and lighter than it should have been.</p><p> </p><p>„Been to Europe with my parents once or twice. It‘s like... less of a taboo over there. Alcohol, y‘know. Americans are gonna tell their kids to stay away from booze and beer. Europeans will teach them how to drink.“</p><p> </p><p>Will didn‘t care too much for what Mike was actually saying at this point. Trying to justify underage drinking? Who cared? Will was just watching. Watching his friend more than he watched the TV screen. Something about him was mesmerizing; The longer Mike talked, the more his glistering lips moved, and the more beer Will had, the more he was sure he was about ready to do anything for this boy next to him. Which did not strike him as odd.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so since the fic isn't going to make this clear, I'll have to tell you this: Not trying to raise awareness with this or anything, but it's a sad fact of life that children of abusive alcoholics often just turn out like their parents. As if they forget with age what happened to them. BUT I'm not assuming that's the case for Will. I was 13 once too and got my best friend and myself drunk on a bottle of wine I knew no one would miss. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Could be the fact that I am drunk right now as well. Sleep tight, friends.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„And then when we‘d already had all the lobster we wanted...“ Mike continued his tale of a rich-people lifestyle Will would never know „...he sent the waiter to get the bill. But the restaurant wouldn‘t accept his credit card. Jeez, you should‘ve seen the color leave his face like-“ Laughing, he snapped his fingers in front of Will‘s nose.</p><p> </p><p>„Then what did you do?“ Will had to concentrate as not to lose his footing, balancing on the tracks like that. He was hungover from last night‘s six pack, though at least his tongue wasn‘t hurting anymore. It felt weird holding someone‘s hand; Not wrong, just unfamiliar. Mike was all that was keeping Will on his feet, to be honest.</p><p> </p><p>People told their kids all the time not to play around railroad tracks, but Mike had a tendency not to listen to adults‘ rules. So here they were, balancing on one track each, pretending they were tightropes. Will felt safe enough. They would sense a train coming in the rails under their feet probably minutes before it could get to them.</p><p> </p><p>Mike shrugged. „They held us hostage, I guess.“ He added, upon Will‘s shocked gaze „Not literally. My dad had me and my mom stay there while he went looking for a bank where he could get cash. And that‘s harder than it sounds if you‘re an American in France.“</p><p> </p><p>„But he managed.“</p><p> </p><p>„We were this close to having to work off our debt in the kitchen.“ Mike threw his head back and laughed. „My mom is actually a great cook, so that would‘ve worked. What about yours?“</p><p> </p><p>„What?“ Will was a bit absent for a few seconds, attempting not to lose his footing on the slippery metal of the rail track.</p><p> </p><p>„Your mom.“ Mike giggled. „She a good cook? Was just wondering because you‘re a bit on the scrawny side.“</p><p> </p><p>It was with a terrible pain in his belly that Will decided to be honest with Mike. That feeling of dread was stupid, obviously; He was only feeling it because of the beating he knew was waiting for him if he was too outspoken about these things. But this was Mike. Mike wouldn‘t go ask Will‘s dad about it. „She‘s dead.“ Will said.</p><p> </p><p>„She‘s- oh.“ Mike looked a bit shocked and ashamed.</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah. She- Y‘know, when I was a baby I was sort of loud. I mean, I guess she wasn‘t really... stable. But that doesn‘t make it better. I wouldn‘t stop crying one day, and she couldn‘t stand it anymore, so she just... slit her wrists in the bathroom.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike coughed. He almost toppled over trying to come to a quick halt. „Will!“</p><p> </p><p>„What?“ Will spat.</p><p> </p><p>„You say that like it‘s the most normal thing in the world!“</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, well, isn‘t it?“ Just like Mike did, Will positioned himself facing his friend. He tried getting his hand out of Mike‘s grasp, which Mike didn‘t allow. „I know it was my fault, no need to make a fuzz about it. I‘ll pay for it eventually.“ The words just sputtered out of him, brutally honest, maybe too honest for Mike to handle.</p><p> </p><p>„And what does that mean? Man, I didn‘t realize your dad was that big a piece of shit.“ Will wanted to protest only to find himself unable to, because Mike, in an odd display of affection, took Will‘s face in his hands and squeezed. „Was he the one to tell you that story?“</p><p> </p><p>Will nodded. He could feel a faint vibration is his legs. At first he thought his knees were about to give in. When the vibration became more intense and then even produced a metallic hissing sound, he knew what was happening.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike...“ he pressed through his squished lips. „Train.“</p><p> </p><p>„I know.“ Mike said calmly. With strength one wouldn‘t expect from him, he kept Will in place. „We‘ve got time. Will, if that train would run you over now, what would happen next?“</p><p> </p><p>Panic was beginning to rise from the pit of Will‘s stomach. How could Mike be so calm? „Mike, we gotta get away from-“</p><p> </p><p>„What if we don‘t? What if we don‘t get away? Think about it, Will.“ The hissing was turning into something more intense, almost screeching. The tracks were rattling under Will‘s shoes. He tried to pull away, he really did. But Mike was so, <em>so </em>strong. And his voice was a deep growl now. His eyes were black. „Where would you end up if you were to die right now? Your brain over there, your guts over there. And your soul?“</p><p> </p><p>„Stop it! Let me go! Mike, let me go! Please!“ With Mike‘s hands to either side of his face, Will couldn‘t see from where the train was approaching. He could hear it coming louder and louder, though, until a horn blew threw his eardrums from the right. „I‘m going to hell!“ he screamed, convinced that that was exactly what was about to happen. „I‘m going to hell! Are you happy now?“</p><p> </p><p>„No.“ Mike‘s voice whispered from inside of Will‘s head. He felt himself whipped around, almost thrown off the tracks, right in time for a terrible hurricane-like breeze to rush past him. The train came barreling down the tracks and past Will, passing him while he was still rolling on the ground together with Mike, who had pulled him out of harm‘s way in the last second.</p><p> </p><p>The next thing Will knew was he was panting. Gasping for air like someone who had just been saved from drowning. He felt like that too, the way his lungs seemed to clear of a thick, burning liquid. „Fuck you!“ he sputtered. „Fuck! You! We could‘ve died!“</p><p> </p><p>„Maybe! I‘ve never died before, though!“ Mike yelled against the rattling of the train. Will realized he was just standing there. Not at all stressed, not out of breath, just Mike as he always looked. The train kept on rolling as though nothng had happened, as though the driver hadn‘t even seen the two boys on the tracks. „Besides, what difference would it have made? If you‘re going to hell, you might as well go right away.“</p><p> </p><p>„What kind of-“ Will coughed. „-stupid idea is that? By that logic if you‘re going to heaven, you might as go right away as well. You want everyone in the world to kill themselves?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike bowed down, smiling smugly. The train passed entirely and began vanishing into the distance before he spoke again. The calm that spread, the silence, was almost unreal. „Point is, you think you deserve hell. You need punishment, don‘t you? Yeah, you deserve it. Then why did you beg me to get you off those tracks?“</p><p> </p><p>There were tears picking on the corners of Will‘s eyes. The familiar heat ready to burst out of him in drops of saltwater. „Y-You scared me.“</p><p> </p><p>„Odd. For a second there I thought you were actually looking forward to your well deserved punishment. Does that mean you don‘t?“ Mike picked Will up, again proving his surprising strength. Will did feel stupid the way he stood there, shaking like a leaf with his bottom lip wobbling. „Come on, Byers. I want to see more of this town. Haven‘t yet found a place to be alone for fuck‘s sake. I need that sometimes.“</p><p> </p><p>„W-What?“ Will just couldn‘t move. When Mike began acting like nothing at all had happened, all his limbs just froze and wouldn‘t let him follow his supposed friend.</p><p> </p><p>Mike just leaned his head to the side curiously. He grinned too, this time with compassion. „Tell you something, Byers. It‘s best if we don‘t talk about what just happened. Not today anyways. You‘re going to think about it tonight, and the night after, and so on. That‘s more than enough. And... now I‘d really like to know if there‘s a place in this town to sit and think.“</p><p> </p><p>Were things that easy for Mike? Did he understand so little? Of course Will knew a place like that, but this couldn‘t be it! Could it? He found himself not moving an inch.</p><p> </p><p>„Hey.“ Mike said when he realized that Will wouldn‘t follow him. „I had it under control. Every inch of the way I was in control. We couldn‘t have possibly died, I‘ve done stuff like this plenty.“</p><p> </p><p>„Really?“ Will hiccuped. He wanted to believe Mike more than he would have admitted. It was like begging his own mind to accept a lie as the truth.</p><p> </p><p>„I wouldn‘t lie to you. Here, feel that?“ Mike laid a palm right in the middle of Will‘s chest. „That‘s your heart. Feel how fast it‘s beating?“</p><p><br/>
Helplessly, Will nodded. „Yeah.“</p><p> </p><p>„When a pipe is clogged, you need pressure.“ Mike pressed down hard. „Pressure.“ he repeated. „To wash away whatever‘s stuck in that pipe. Do you feel it?“</p><p> </p><p>And Will understood where Mike was coming from. Not that he would forgive him that easily, but he at least got what he was trying to do and say. „I don‘t know.“ he answered truthfully. „Right now I‘m just scared.“</p><p> </p><p>„Then you need more pressure. But not today.“ Mike tussled Will‘s hair affectionately, and that really helped. „Are you gonna show me a nice quiet place now?“</p><p> </p><p>Will breathed the stress away, and finally it worked. „There‘s this quarry where no one ever goes. It‘s secluded.“</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Picking up some... steam. Pun intended.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This day would cost him dearly. Will knew it the second he said goodbye to Mike, or he had known it all day but just sort of pushed it to the side. Between almost getting run over by a train and showing Mike Sattler‘s Quarry, the best place in all of Hawkins to be alone with your thoughts, there was little to no time to worry about going home. He did have to eventually, though, and he decided not to make it worse by stalling any further. Having slept over at Mike‘s, he hadn‘t made breakfast that morning - dinner would have to be a real treat, or else...</p><p> </p><p>On his way back, walking through the brightly colored woods of October, he tried to list all the spots he really wanted to protect tonight. That was somewhat of a ritual for Will, though he sometimes wondered why he kept it up. It never changed; Face, neck, stomach, groin... Why had he started in the first place? Only to be sure that there would be places on his body that wouldn‘t give him excruciating pain in a few hours time.</p><p> </p><p>With a thumping heart bursting out of his chest, Will put his key in the lock. He turned it. And the door was unlocked. Will stood there on the battered front porch, wondering. Wondering if he should run, let his sneakers fly across the damp ground faster than his father could ever dream to run. He could hide at Mike‘s house. And make it worse that way.</p><p> </p><p>The decision was robbed from him when the door flew open. „Hey there, son. Missed your curfew there, didn‘t you?“ He was drunk already, Will could smell it right away. His dad leaned out of the open door, looked in all directions to see if anyone else was there. Will wished so hard he would find someone. A deer, even. Anything that could resemble a human, a witness. And then his face neck grew stiff under his father‘s grip as he was dragged inside the house.</p><p> </p><p>„Mind explaining why I woke up to no breakfast this morning?“ the man growled. „Sneaking out in the middle of the night, didn‘t I raise you at all?“</p><p> </p><p>„D-Dad, I‘m-“</p><p> </p><p>„You don‘t know what sorry even means yet, you little fag!“ Will was thrown into the living room. „You had it coming, didn‘t you, boy? You had it coming! Say it!“</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, I- I had it coming, I know.“ Will whimpered as if that could save him now. His dad had already prepared the flogger and the belt, as he usually didn‘t wear pants in the house after work, just those old shorts with egg stains on them. Will cowered. It was no use. Whatever scars had just recently healed, they were torn open again by the clash of leather on his back.</p><p><br/>
„You gonna bleed through your clothes now?“ his dad taunted. „You‘re gonna make me buy you new shirts every other week?“</p><p> </p><p>„N-No, sir.“</p><p> </p><p>„Then make sure to your clothes stay clean.“</p><p> </p><p>„Yes, sir.“ Will sobbed louder than he probably should have. This was bad. This was so, <em>so </em>bad. He would have to make up an excuse for gym class next week. Odd that Coach Turner was the person he was thinking about now... Will pulled his shirt over his head, threw it on the couch, and then he knelt there, hands clasped around the back of his neck, preparing as best as he could for the bad things to come.</p><p> </p><p>He didn‘t know how he had managed to make dinner. Will just couldn‘t remember cooking, but when he emerged from his room at one in the morning to go to the bathroom, his father‘s dirty plate was there, and the leftover casserole was too. Will had definitely made it, there was no doubt because his dad couldn‘t cook. Will didn‘t care too much about the food, even if his stomach was turning over. The pain was just too much. Will couldn‘t move, he could barely walk. And yet he dutifully filled the dishwasher.</p><p> </p><p>He went to the living room next to pick up the whiskey bottle his father had left with a little sip in it. Will took it to the bathroom. Then, a minute later, Will stood naked in the bathtub, biting down on a roll of toilet paper to muffle the screams, his back on fire, and the stench of cheap bourbon hanging heavy in the air.</p><p> </p><p>The bathtub... The searing pain projected images on his retina; Red. Blood. Blood up to Will‘s shins, and the pale skin of his mother‘s face, her eyes staring into the abyss. All his fault. <em>All his fault</em>. And no one, not even Mike would convince him otherwise. What did Mike know anyways? He‘d never been here.</p><p> </p><p>This was where it had happened, and now the blood from his back was mixing with hers. Will turned on the shower then, trusting in Mister Jack Daniels to keep his dad fast asleep. He kept the water lukewarm, stood there in the stream until the blood stopped pooling at his feet. He would have to move carefully for a few days. Sit and sleep carefully too. And Will would have to speak carefully for many years to come.</p><p> </p><p>„You probably think I‘m crazy, don‘t you?“ Will asked the darkness of his bedroom. He was lying on his stomach, of course. „Talking to myself imagining you‘re here.“ Will could almost feel it, Mike‘s soothing but imaginary touch to the welts on his back. It was just the wind coming through the cracks in his window frame.</p><p> </p><p>„<em>But I am here.“</em> a voice whispered.</p><p> </p><p>And Will laughed bitterly. „I guess pouring whiskey over an open wound is one way to get drunk, huh? Don‘t worry, I‘ll come visit you tomorrow. We can hang out then.“</p><p> </p><p>„<em>I‘d like that very much.“</em></p><p> </p><p>„I knew you were gonna say that. Obviously. You‘re in my head so you tell me what I want to hear.“</p><p> </p><p>„<em>Am I?“</em> Mike‘s voice laughed. <em>„Am I in your head, Will? Or am I standing outside your window right now?“</em></p><p> </p><p>Will shot up in his bed in an instant. Because this time it sounded too real. Too much like Mike‘s voice was actually saying the truth, because it now appeared filtered through a thin layer of glass. Two embers were glowing in the dark there on the other side of Will‘s window. Flickering like little fires, but warm and not at all threatening.</p><p> </p><p>„Is this real?“ Will whispered. „Or am I dreaming?“</p><p> </p><p>„<em>Maybe neither, maybe both... Who knows?“</em> the figure behind the glass said. <em>„Are you afraid, Will? Are those goosebumps I‘m seeing?“</em></p><p> </p><p>Will looked down to see only blackness, but his fingertips feeling for his shoulder confirmed it. „I‘m- I‘m not scared.“ Will said, trying to sound fierce. It wasn‘t fear that made his voice crack, it was pain. He had just gotten up too fast.</p><p> </p><p>„<em>If you‘re not scared, why don‘t you open the window and let me in? It‘s so cold out here, Will. You don‘t want me to freeze to death, do you?“</em> The thing that may or may not have been Mike cackled. The drag, the sheer power the figure out there had over Will was too immense. He felt like a slave, and did not hesitate a second. Will pulled the window up; And the figure was gone.</p><p> </p><p>„Oh man, I enjoy fucking with you too much!“</p><p> </p><p>Will slapped a hand on his mouth as not to scream, as the voice was now <em>behind </em>him. And truly, as he spun around Mike was standing right in the middle of his room, flashing the grin of a maniac.</p><p> </p><p>„And it‘s easy too!“ the other boy laughed. „You should see yourself now!“</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s not-“ Will started, but realized he was being too loud. He continued in a whisper. „That‘s not funny, you jerk! How the hell did you even get in? How did you- you were just out there, weren‘t you?“</p><p> </p><p>„Was I really?“ Mike asked mysteriously. „I guess. Yeah, I guess I was over there just a few moments back. And what does that tell you?“</p><p> </p><p>„What is it supposed to tell me?“ Will groaned. If Mike could only stop speaking in riddles. „That Scottie beamed you in? That you're a magician? A goddamn wizard who could get me killed if he doesn‘t keep his voice down?“</p><p> </p><p>In the dark, Mike‘s face turned an infinite amount of sad. He touched Will, even did so tenderly with a warm palm stroking his cheek. This was all too surreal. „You got it bad tonight, and I- I wish I could help.“</p><p> </p><p>„Y-You are helping.“ Will whispered.</p><p> </p><p>„Obviously. I‘m... flattered, really. I got you thinking. Hell, I even got you dreaming about me.“</p><p> </p><p>„It is a dream, isn‘t it?“ Will didn‘t want it to be, because he knew he would never be touched like that in real life. At least he could talk as loud as he wanted to now.</p><p> </p><p>Mike shrugged. „Sure is. I mean, you got a lot to process. So much to think about, so little time. I just hope I‘ve set something in motion there. Pressure, remember? Look...“ Will‘s gaze followed his pointed finger to find the sky turning a dark shade of orange behind the trees outside. „It‘s already time to wake up, Will. Wake up. <em>Wake up.</em>“</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wake... up...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The alarm clock hammered right next to Will‘s ear.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Will :( Just know that writing this hurt me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>„Hey, Will?“</p><p> </p><p>Even after two weeks, Will was still in awe of Mike‘s house. Not that he didn‘t feel comfortable here, quite the contrary. He loved the basement to death, this absolute nerd cave that Mike had made out of it. Posters, figurines, a small TV even. And pretty colorful light that gave off a rainbow-glow when it got dark. The couch was infinitely comfy too, so comfortable that he sometimes dozed off here. Just like he had today, before Mike‘s voice brought him back. „Uh, yeah?“</p><p> </p><p>„What‘s the answer?“ Mike asked him.</p><p> </p><p>„What answer?“ How long had Will been out of it? Had Mike set up a joke without Will noticing?</p><p> </p><p>„I mean the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything.“</p><p> </p><p>„Oh...“ <em>Oh! </em>Will giggled. „That should be forty-two. With a little margin of error, because I‘m not an artificial super-brain. What are you on about?“</p><p> </p><p>„Well, as an experienced hitchhiker-“ Mike, without warning, threw a towel in Will‘s face. A soft one that a mom would buy. It was white with a green and red flower pattern on it, and Will stared. „-you should know that one never goes outside without a towel. So this is my gift to you.“</p><p> </p><p>„T-Thanks.“ Will said, but it sounded more like a question. „Does that mean we‘re going outside?“</p><p> </p><p>„Absolutely. There‘s something totally awesome I want to show you.“ Mike sounded so enthusiastic that Will absolutely could not refuse, though he had a sore throat and knew that he would be sick by Monday. „Don‘t forget your towel.“</p><p> </p><p>„Seriously?“ Will could see that Mike had a towel on his own, a baby-blue one.</p><p> </p><p>„Yes, seriously. Come on!“ Mike urged. „Fresh air is what you need right now. You‘ll feel way better after.“</p><p> </p><p>Will wasn‘t too sure of that, but he followed Mike nonetheless. Mike didn‘t lock the door - he never did, and maybe that wasn‘t necessary in a good neighborhood. Still, it struck Will as odd.</p><p> </p><p>He fumbled with his towel all the way into the woods. It was almost November now, and overcast, with the atmosphere of a world that would soon go dormant under a layer of snow. For now it was just wet and muddy and yucky all over.</p><p> </p><p>Mike led them into the woods. Which was good, because at least with all the trees around there was less wind that could creep under Will‘s clothes through his too-wide sleeves. Very soon, though, they were back out in the open. The quarry lay below them, this calm mirror surface with an unknown depth hidden below.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘ve spent a lot of time here recently.“ Mike told Will as they descended down to the water.</p><p> </p><p>„Really?“</p><p> </p><p>„An hour or two almost every night. Thanks for showing me, really. It‘s... quiet.“</p><p> </p><p>Quirky, loud and outspoken Mike Wheeler needed a quiet place? Will scoffed at that. „Probably not so quiet when you‘re around. You wanted to show me something?“</p><p> </p><p>„Sort of...“ Mike said, puzzling Will further. He sped up his steps until Will basically had to run after him. Catching his breath, he watched as Mike reached the water first, squatted down and ran a hand through the silvery liquid. „Brr. Colder than I remember.“ Little waves rippled from the spot where Mike had dunked his hand in. „Alright, I‘m going in. You coming?“</p><p> </p><p>„In?“ Will asked. „You mean like-“ His gaze fell on the towel in his hand. „Oh no. No no no no. You‘re not asking me to-“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘ve got the towel, don‘t you?“ Mike quipped. He had already shed his jacket on the gravel not far from the water, and was now pulling his shirt off.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike, it‘s like forty-five degrees out here! And I already got a sore throat!“ Will began to nervously scan his surroundings, especially the cliff above them, hoping to find something to use as a pretense. Someone might have been watching - technically this was private property and they were trespassing right now.</p><p> </p><p>„Strengthens the immune system. It‘s good for you! The Russians do it all the time in frozen-over lakes, I swear! They cut a hole in the ice and jump in!“</p><p> </p><p>„Mike, I really- oh god.“ Having found no one, Will‘s gaze found his friend again, who was now naked as the day he was born, and very nonchalant about it too.</p><p> </p><p>„What? I‘m not walking all the way back in wet underwear!“</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, but you could‘ve brought swim trunks!“</p><p> </p><p>„Do you see anyone here I could offend?“ Mike sounded exasperated, totally annoyed by all the commentary. „Besides, even if someone‘s watching, it‘s not like it‘s gonna make my dick fall off. Okay, you giant baby. Stay where you are if you must. But I promise I‘ll make it my personal mission to get your clothes wet, sissy. Pressure, Will! Adrenaline!“</p><p> </p><p><em>Giant baby... Sissy... Pressure...</em> Subconsciously Will was beginning to gnash his teeth. Mike was really hell-bent on killing him, wasn‘t he? Will was exhilarated in a way. Doing something forbidden, something stupid - but if he got undressed...</p><p> </p><p>Mike could read minds, Will decided. Because his tone became mellow as soon as Will had thought about how his back looked. „Hey, Byers. It‘s okay, really.“ And though Mike didn‘t know <em>what </em>exactly he was talking about, Will began fidgeting with his jacket. Goosebumps spread on his body when he shrugged it off. He kicked off his shoes and socks, feeling the gravel dig into the soles of his feet, dropped his jeans and even his briefs. Then he stalled for a few seconds.</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, Mike turned around and started kicking the water a little. He did look at Will again, though, after the last piece of fabric, his striped shirt, had hit the ground. <em>No need to be afraid</em> Will thought. <em>There‘s nothing he has that I don‘t</em>...</p><p> </p><p>But there were things that Will had that Mike didn‘t. Mike, with his flawless white skin that had never been torn by leather. The wind was so, <em>so </em>cold. And Mike was suddenly so close. „Jeez, I wish I could‘ve helped you better that day.“</p><p> </p><p>The <em>50 </em>that Troy had carved into Will‘s belly was still there, now dark red, and it would never go away, he was sure of that now. It felt weird, sort of inappropriate but also very soothing when Mike thumbed the scars, dragged his finger across every inch of it. The antipole to their origin. „Turn around.“ he said.</p><p> </p><p>„No.“ Will whispered. „Mike, please.“ His back was suddenly itching again. Healing wounds did have that habit. No dried blood was left by now, just tender, pink and swollen welts. They too would turn dark and permanent, like so many already had. And more would be added, too.</p><p> </p><p>„Turn around.“ Mike ordered, and his voice was that of an animal, with a wolf-like growl below it. It made Will powerless. He would have climbed the cliff and jumped right on down if Mike had told him to in that voice. He winced at all those little rocks hurting his feet when he turned.</p><p> </p><p>Mike sniffed. He seriously sniffed, and then, instead of dark and threatening, his voice was cracking. „Will, it‘s... it‘s okay. It‘s okay.“ And he touched those scars too with one fingertip, tracing each and every one of them, always making sure not to hurt Will. It felt better than in any dream. „Does it hurt?“</p><p> </p><p>„It‘s gotten better.“ Will mumbled, biting back tears. He felt more exposed than he had facing Mike. „I like to sleep on my stomach anyways.“</p><p> </p><p>„The water is going to make you nice and numb. Didn‘t I tell you it‘s what you need? Come on, Byers. Let‘s go swimming.“</p><p> </p><p>Will didn‘t die of a heart attack that day, like he knew others had from jumping into ice cold water. He didn‘t feel a lot of pain either for a change. It hurt, yes, but it was hurting on Will‘s terms. He felt in control all the way from taking a first hesitant step into the water to submerging his abused body and let the antarctic cold numb his broken skin. He splashed around like crazy, got dunked underwater and pressed Mike down in return, and he dove. Right to the bottom of the quarry, gasping for air when he resurfaced.</p><p> </p><p>Will pushed his limits. It was what Mike made him do. Be it blasting down a street on an unstoppable skateboard, or narrowly avoiding death by train, or skinny dipping in a dangerous quarry near the end of October. It was just such a rush having his heart pump out adrenaline en masse. <em>Un-clogging his pipes further.</em></p><p> </p><p>But the hours after were rewarding too, because now more than ever, Will felt liberated. Mike had seen him, really seen him. Will and his secret. And he didn‘t mind. Mike let him sit in his lap later, curled up in the warmth of a blanket he had put on the heater before they had left. And he rubbed warming circles on Will‘s chest, keeping track of the hours so Will didn‘t have to. Not a single moment was wasted on wondering why this felt so very natural. Will could close his eyes to imagine for a few hours what it would be like if he never had to go home again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Didn't mean to miss a day. Got drunk an fell asleep -_-<br/>So how was your day?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will did not miss his curfew that night, thanks to Mike, who held back with his comments mercifully, and just ended up waking Will and telling him it was time to go home. Will felt sick now, not terribly so, but worse than before today‘s little adventure. Tomorrow he would probably spend some of his hard earned money to get himself some NyQuil. Coughs kept rasping from his throat all the way home, he blew his nose into the last paper napkin he had on him, making it increasingly wet. He would probably infect his dad - who, if anything, would just be twice as disagreeable then.</p><p> </p><p>Will didn‘t waste time at home. He did what he had to do, going to work peeling potatoes, taking the slices of beef he had seasoned in the morning out of the fridge. Pans and pots and knives, all while hardly feeling strong enough to stand. But it wasn‘t like Will‘s weakness would stop his father from wanting a warm dinner, so he just bit is tongue and tried to take it like a man. While everything was cooking, Will had a bowl of cereal. Not because he wanted to, but because he needed it. The thought of a warm meal seemed appalling right now, but at least he could stand corn flakes and cold milk.</p><p> </p><p>He checked the clock over his own dinner; His dad would be home in about half an hour with any luck. But then it was half an hour later, dinner was being kept warm in the oven, and there was no sign of him. No V8 engine coughing like a lung cancer patient outside, no heavy, drunk footsteps, no slurred words of contempt. Just the silence of the woods. <em>Great</em>, Will thought, because he wanted nothing more than to sleep, which he couldn‘t until his dad was home. <em>„Oh, now you‘re sleeping while I work my ass off to put food on the table?“ </em>Will had once heard his father grunt after being woken up with calloused hands choking him. <em>„Want me to put you to sleep?“ </em>After what felt like minutes of his throat being constricted, everything had turned black around him.</p><p> </p><p>It turned ten. Then eleven. Then midnight. Will had turned the oven off by then, the beef having long gone dry.</p><p> </p><p>No one came. Not at one in the morning, not at four in the morning when Will woke with a start, realizing that he had fallen asleep at the kitchen table with his face right next to his empty bowl. His neck was stiff, his feet socks damp and cold, and the house was still quiet as a tomb. Will hated being alone in the dark. Even his dad was better than nothing, because with nothing but the woods around, he could never feel quite safe at night. At least he knew that his dad wouldn‘t let anything from out there, whatever there may be, in the house. Right now, though, Will felt too miserable to even care about his childish fear of the dark. He dragged himself down the hall, spied into his father‘s bedroom. Nothing. He checked every room without success.</p><p> </p><p>So, what else was there to do than put the food he‘d made into the fridge, retreat to his room, and wait for the sun to rise. He would miss school should he fall asleep, so Will sat by his desk, uncomfortable in his wooden chair on purpose. He tried thinking back to the last time dad hadn‘t come home. He ended up lying there, passed out drunk on the porch when Will got home from school, so if that experience was anything to go by, Will didn‘t have too much to fear.</p><p> </p><p>Well, not much besides school. But then there was Mister Clarke, who watched him with eagle eyes all morning, and especially during recess. Will knew that he looked like a wreck, so he tried to hide, to no avail. „You‘re... not looking too good, William.“ Mister Clarke remarked when Will tried to leave the classroom for lunch break. „Have you caught a cold?“</p><p> </p><p>„I... I guess...“ Will sniffed, anxiously trying not to sneeze right in his teacher‘s face. „It‘s not too bad, though.“</p><p> </p><p>„Do you maybe want to call home and have your father pick you up?“</p><p> </p><p>There was a surge of panic that shot through Will, so strong it almost made his knees give in after a morning of constantly nodding off. „I don‘t want to miss-“</p><p> </p><p>„William.“ Mister Clarke cut him short. „It‘s either you miss a few days of school, or everyone else does. Because at this rate, this entire class is going to be sick by the end of the week.“</p><p> </p><p>„Look, my dad he‘s...“ Will couldn‘t possibly tell the truth. Mister Clarke was too attentive. Too sharp. This would be the final straw, and then he would call someone to take Will away. „He‘s at work. Really busy.“</p><p> </p><p>Mister Clarke looked conflicted. He stood up from his desk. „It‘s too far to walk in your condition. Is there anyone else who could pick you up?“</p><p> </p><p>„A- A friend, maybe.“</p><p> </p><p>„A friend as in <em>someone your age</em>?“ Mister Clarke asked, and Will nodded.</p><p> </p><p>„His parents home school him, and he lives just ten minutes from here on foot.“ Internally, he prayed that his teacher would let it go now. In truth, Will wanted to be with Mike anyways. More than with his dad for sure.</p><p> </p><p>„I suppose it‘s better than nothing. How about we call him from the teachers‘ lounge?“</p><p> </p><p>Mister Clarke didn‘t stop scrutinizing Will the entire time they waited. He was kind enough to get him cough syrup from the nurse‘s office, but Will would have traded that for fewer suspicious glances from his teacher. At least he didn‘t try to talk to Mike too much; Finding out that there would be no adult in the house would not have helped Will‘s case.</p><p> </p><p>He only began leaning on Mike when they were sure Mister Clarke couldn‘t see them anymore. Will only realized how much he needed that when Mike was dragging him through the woods. „I feel like it‘s kind of my fault.“ Mike sighed. „Maybe yesterday was a mistake.“</p><p> </p><p>Will coughed. „No, you were right. I was already getting sick. It was... nice.“</p><p> </p><p>„Alright. I got cans over cans of noodle soup at home, and you‘re going to eat one after the other until you‘re better.“</p><p> </p><p>„Sounds like heaven. Mike, you really didn‘t have to do this. I just wanted to thank-“</p><p> </p><p>„Hey, I always enjoy the company.“ Mike laughed. „Plus your old man wouldn‘t give you soup and warm blankets, would he? I suppose you can‘t sleep over?“</p><p> </p><p>Christ, how did Will deserve a friend like this? „Maybe. I don‘t know. He didn‘t come home last night, y‘know.“</p><p> </p><p>„Getting a little taste of what it‘s like to be in my shoes?“ Finally, they were approaching the house. Will needed to lie down so badly, he couldn‘t quite believe that he had gone to school in the first place. Once again, the door was unlocked, and Mike didn‘t even have to let Will go to push it open.</p><p> </p><p>„Do you want me to...“ he said from the kitchen once Will was seated on a living room couch „...head over to your place and see if your dad is home? If he‘s not back tonight, you could-“</p><p> </p><p>„Wouldn‘t do much good.“ Will coughed. „He could be home at three in the morning and still be pissed about me not being there.“</p><p> </p><p>„And do you... want to stay the night?“</p><p> </p><p>Will, even with his clogged nose, could smell chicken noodle soup. The best cold medicine in the world, he was sure. „If you want me here?“</p><p> </p><p>„Come on.“ Mike came into the living room grinning, carrying a steaming bowl on a tablet. „I asked you, didn‘t I? Now, you‘re going to empty this bowl. There‘s more on the stove, and I‘m just gonna head over to the pharmacy and get you some medicine.“ His face turned stern, as though he had already anticipated Will‘s response. „No, you‘re not going to pay me back. It‘s my parents money, and there‘s a lot of it. I can do whatever I want.“</p><p> </p><p>Arguing was no use, and Will felt too weak for it anyways. For once, he accepted that someone was doing something for him just because. Being to weak to care about anything was bliss, he realized. So Will didn‘t care. Not about his dad, not about Mike‘s money, not about being sick. All he knew that moment was that he was about to have a nice bowl of soup and a long afternoon of sleep. What would come after... well, that was a concern for another day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Good morning, everyone. Well, at least it's morning where I live and that makes me happy because I actually managed to go to bed at nine. So much better. Sleeping in the afternoon just makes me depressed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two in the morning, and Will was once again plagued by his bladder. How many times he had gotten up to relieve himself, he wasn‘t sure; What he did know though, was that while it was annoying to leave the warmth of Mike‘s bed all the time, he was getting better. He shivered a little less every time his bare feet tapped across the tiles of the upstairs bathroom. He could breathe better, and his cough was letting off too. Perhaps this was supposed to be one of these two-day colds - then at least Will wouldn‘t have to suffer a week long flu.</p><p> </p><p>He felt relieved stepping out of the bathroom, about ready to go back to bed. He was getting a little hot, though. A good sign, Will thought, because Mike had cranked up the heat in the entire upstairs a few hours back to make him more comfortable. Oh how he had shivered with fits of freezing cold. Mike surely wouldn‘t mind of he opened a few windows just a crack to let some fresh air in. Will told himself that, knowing subconsciously that he was also just curious. He had never seen a rich people bedroom before. And since Mike‘s parents weren‘t home...</p><p> </p><p>It was about as fancy as he had imagined; The bed impossibly wide, clean, and completely unused. Probably brand new, as there really are people who get new furniture every time they move. There was a TV too, which to Will‘s dad would have seemed like peak decadence. What did bother Will, though, was a distinct, almost moldy smell. It crawled into his clogged nostrils uncomfortably, making it harder to breathe than all the snot did. At least it gave him a proper excuse to really open a window - since Mike probably never went in here, it was only natural that it was stuffy by now.</p><p> </p><p>Will came back to Mike‘s room, finding his friend awake and yawning in the warm glow of his bedside lamp. „Hey, where‘ve you been? Looking better.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m feeling better too.“ Will said. „I... uh, was getting a bit warm. If you don‘t mind?“ To get some circulation going, he slid open Mike‘s window as well.</p><p> </p><p>„No, no, it‘s fine.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘ve opened the one in your parents‘ bedroom too. It sorta smelled weird in there.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike, previously stretching limbs and cracking joints, stilled on the spot. His eyes suddenly pierced Will with their sharpness and cold sparks. „Really?“ It looked as though Mike had to restrain himself to find his smile again. „Huh, this place probably needs some draft.“</p><p> </p><p>„Y-Yeah.“ Leaning on the windowsill, Will breathed in the chilly, vitalizing air. He decided not to ask Mike. Because for all of his weird traits, for the unusual living situation of almost never seeing his parents, he was an amazing friend. Better than Will deserved. If there was more to it, it wasn‘t Will‘s right to know. He turned back around to see the expectant gaze, as well as the blanket being held up for him.</p><p> </p><p>And Will traded suspicion for the all-encompassing joy of having a friend, deserved or not. Whatever was going on with Mike, he cared about Will. And for Will, that was enough. He crawled back under the covers. „You‘re gonna wind up sick too.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike chuckled, and as if to demonstrate how little he cared, pulled Will further into his embrace. „I never get sick. Think you can sleep through now?“</p><p> </p><p>„Don‘t know.“ Will said into his friend‘s shirt. „Depends on my bladder.“</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s okay. But you got to try at least, yeah?“ Mike raked his fingers through Will‘s hair, and that left Will with no doubt that he would find a few more hours of rest.</p><p> </p><p>His throat was still itching him the day after, and he certainly was a bit wakened, but otherwise he was feeling totally fine. Now, Mister Clarke had made it clear that he didn‘t expect Will at school for the rest of the week, and though he was feeling fine enough to go, he didn‘t want to; Every second he spent at Mike‘s was bliss. A glimpse of a life Will had never known.</p><p> </p><p>It did not blind him, though. It was all borrowed time, so to speak, and there was still another place where Will had to be. He did head home after lunch. Still, the house was empty, though it was better not to push his luck by staying out any longer. Will retreated to his room almost immediately, pulled the cassette player from under his bed, as well as the headphones. If his dad came home to loud music, or any sort of music, there would be hell to pay. Will never put the headphones on properly, always just one ear so he‘d be able to hear what was going on in the house. In his opinion, it was good to have a few moments to prepare for the pain.</p><p> </p><p>The engine could be heard at quarter to ten that night. And dad didn‘t lose a word over the fact that he had been missing for a night - all that was clear to Will was <em>he was sober</em>. For once, he didn‘t reek of booze and beer, and he walked in a straight line too. Sure, he immediately went ahead trying to remedy that by chugging half a bottle of whiskey, but still. „Ugh, what‘s that?“ dad asked, slightly less slurred than usual.</p><p> </p><p>„W-What‘s what?“ Will croaked. That was a mistake.</p><p> </p><p>„This right here!“ his father growled, waving the slice of beef he had impaled on his fork right in front of Will‘s face. „S‘that leather you‘re serving me. Fucking hell... Here, you eat that. Not hungry anyways.“</p><p> </p><p>For a second, Will believed he had just dodged that bullet. His dad just put the meat down again and slid the plate over to Will. He did have to make the second mistake of the night, though. „M‘not hungry either.“</p><p> </p><p>„Really...“ Very slowly, even thoughtfully, his dad got up. He rounded the table, Will not daring to move an inch. Two small glasses were set in front of him. „Know what always gets my appetite going?“</p><p> </p><p>„I... I guess.“ Will stammered. He watched his father fill both glasses almost to the top with that ember firewater. „I don‘t think I should-“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m your father!“ The old table trembled under the impact of dad‘s fist. „I‘m the one telling you what you should. And right now you should drink.“</p><p> </p><p>There it was again, this sharp, throbbing panic that pulsed through Will‘s limbs. His hand shook violently as he reached for the one glass while his father took the other. This was more than a mouthful. More than the occasional sip Will had stolen. And his throat felt just that much more scratchy.</p><p> </p><p>Will was too slow. Before he knew it, his dad had already knocked back his own glass. „The hell are you waiting for?“ Still trembling, Will held the vile liquid under his nose and let it trickle on his lips; but then he felt stubby fingers in his hair, not gentle like Mike‘s, yanking and tearing. The glass, shoved roughly, clacked with his teeth and emptied its contents entirely into Will‘s mouth. With no choice but to choke or to swallow, Will did the latter. His hurting throat was on fire then, and he gasped for air like a drowning man.</p><p> </p><p>„You hungry now?“ his father sneered, but Will couldn‘t answer. Tears were blurring over his vision. „Nah, you aren‘t. Looks like you didn‘t have enough.“ And with horror, Will watched the glass being refilled. He wasn‘t yet able to speak again when it happened again. And then once more. And then twice more. After that last one, Will fell off his chair without much more to do than curl up on the kitchen floor, trying his best not to spill his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>„Fucking pathetic. I used to knock down bottles at your age, boy. Have your dinner and don‘t let me hear a fucking sound. Didn‘t get a minute of sleep in that goddamn jail cell last night...“ For a few more minutes, Will could hear him rambling about that <em>„asshole sheriff“ </em>and his <em>„fag deputies“ </em>who apparently all <em>„take it up the ass while I‘m having fun with their wives“, </em>but behind his father‘s closed bedroom door, the cascade of insults was soon replaced with loud snoring.</p><p> </p><p>Will didn‘t have his dinner. As quietly as he could, but swerving back and forth drunkenly, he dumped it in the trashcan and made sure to put a few layers of paper tissues on top. He crawled to his bedroom on all fours.</p><p> </p><p>„From bad to worse, huh?“ Mike whispered. He even helped Will into his bed. „Just when you were getting better. Hope that doesn‘t interfere with tomorrow?“</p><p> </p><p>„T‘morrow?“ Will slurred. He dimly realized that he would have never made it here from the kitchen if it wasn‘t for Mike - just an imaginary image of his friend made him stronger. A comforting thought.</p><p> </p><p>Mike chuckled. „And the rest of the week. You got a free pass from school, remember? We‘re gonna have some fun, promise. But right now you need to sleep.“</p><p> </p><p>Will closed his eyes for the fraction of a second. He could feel a little kiss on his cheek, knowing he was alone in his room. „What are you?“ his drunk mind forced him to ask the darkness, but he would not remember that in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gooooooooooooooood morning Vietnaaaaaam!<br/>Or wherever you live.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike grinned at first. „Jeez, what happened to you?“</p><p> </p><p>Will had left the house as soon as he could, namely five minutes after his dad had left for work, and that was a good decision, as the way over to Mike‘s had taken him almost twice as long than usual. Considering himself lucky that he didn‘t have to go to school, he shrugged. „Doesn‘t matter. I‘m good.“</p><p> </p><p>The grin fell from Mike‘s face. „You don‘t look too good. If I didn‘t know better, I‘d say you‘re hungover.“</p><p> </p><p>„Not far from the truth.“</p><p> </p><p>„Coffee.“ Mike said decidedly. „You need coffee. Come in, sit down.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike had no idea how right he was with that. Will had made coffee for dad this morning, but he was never allowed to have any - with his dad going as far as pouring the leftover black gold down the drain so Will couldn‘t drink it. Will sat at the kitchen counter, yawning. „M‘just a bit tired.“ he said. But really, his head was aching him, and the scratch in his throat hadn‘t let off either, so maybe there was more to come in the lines of the flu.</p><p> </p><p>„Are you- are you feeling up to a field day?“ Mike poured two large mugs of black coffee, taking milk and sugar for himself. Will just took a healthy sip without any unnecessary sweetener.</p><p> </p><p>„Field day?“ he chuckled. „You‘re not going to dip me in ice water again, are you?“ The coffee was doing wonders. To a point where Will thought he would actually go skinny dipping again, if that was what Mike had in mind.</p><p> </p><p>„No, no. Nothing like that. I mean like a real day trip. Here.“ He put something down on the kitchen counter. „If I remember correctly, I said I‘d invite you to see a movie at some point.“</p><p> </p><p>And sure enough, he had bought movie tickets. „The Terminator? That‘s supposed to be great! But...“ For all his excitement, Will was also suddenly dumbfounded. „The AMC in Indianapolis?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike snorted. „Small town theaters suck, Will. That screen is literally going to be twice as big.“</p><p> </p><p>„And how are we supposed to get to Indianapolis?“</p><p> </p><p>There was no answer from Mike, just a devious glare over the rim of his steaming coffee mug, so Will closed his eyes and decided to savor the bitterness and not ask too many questions.</p><p> </p><p>„I think we should get going right away.“ Mike explained. „We can have something to eat when we‘re there, maybe see if we can find an arcade, y‘know.“ They were walking down Maple Street, Mike looking confident, Will having no idea what was to happen next. The bus, maybe? But they were walking in the wrong direction.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike-“</p><p> </p><p>„Ah, there it is.“ Mike said triumphantly. He whipped out a key chain and walked up to some random old van that was parked by the curb. „Get in. What are you waiting for?“</p><p> </p><p>The key fit. „You‘re not being serious right now.“ Will took a few steps back. „I‘m not letting you steal a car, Mike!“</p><p> </p><p>„It‘s not a car, it‘s a van.“ Mike laughed pointlessly. „And I have the key, don‘t I?“</p><p> </p><p>„Whose is this?“</p><p> </p><p>„Would it help if I told you it‘s my dad‘s?“</p><p> </p><p>Will, eyes narrowed, took a closer look. There was no way this van belonged to Mike‘s father. Rich people didn‘t drive vans. And they sure as hell didn‘t drive ten year old vans with rust-ridden fenders and dents in every bumper.</p><p> </p><p>„You want to see the movie, don‘t you? Come on, I‘ve been driving for years. Nothing‘s going to happen.“ When there was no reaction from Will, Mike went on to use a sharper tone. This eerie commanding voice of his, that always crept right into Will‘s head, making him powerless with its droning echo and the threatening, low growl. „Get in the van, Will.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike had his forehead leaned on the steering wheel when Will climbed in. „I swear, Byers...“ he sighed, reaching over to cup Will‘s cheek. „You‘re making it harder than it has to be.“</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, Will‘s friend hadn‘t been lying when he said he‘d been driving for years. The engine made some sickly coughing noises, but Mike had it under control perfectly. Gear shifts were smooth, his steering wasn‘t erratic, and he seemed in a genuinely good mood. The ride would be almost an hour, so Will tried to calm himself, and he tried not to look directly at any police car they encountered.</p><p> </p><p>„Drivers licenses...“ Mike uttered when he noticed Will watching him drive. „They‘re bullshit, Byers. Either you can drive, or you can‘t.“</p><p> </p><p>In these morning hours, the countryside roads between Hawkins and Indianapolis were almost deserted, so Will got his hopes up that everything would work out without a hitch. Needless to say, it did not. Mike was the first to notice the flashing red lights behind them. He cursed lowly „fucking hell...“ and made no attempt to flee. He pulled over. „Okay, listen to me.“ he said, but Will was already panicking.</p><p> </p><p>„Shit! Shit!“ he pressed out. „M-Mike, I gotta hide, or... I don‘t know! I can‘t go to jail! If my dad has to pick me up from some police station five towns over he‘s-“</p><p> </p><p>„Will...“</p><p> </p><p>„No, Mike! You just had to-“</p><p> </p><p>„Will!“ Mike yelled. It shut Will up, though it did nothing to stop him hyperventilating. He was <em>dead</em>. This time, his father would surely kill him. „Let me handle it. Don‘t say a word. Move as little as possible. Don‘t try to smile, or you‘re gonna raise suspicion. He‘s coming. Nowhere to run. Do as I say and you‘re going to be fine.“</p><p> </p><p>There was a knock on the driver side window, which Mike rolled down. He seemed too unfazed by all of this. Like he had any right to be relaxed as hell while Will‘s insides were stirring up a revolution, about ready to shoot out of his mouth and all over the dash. His hand dug into the torn seat.</p><p> </p><p>„Officer.“ Mike said, friendly, and in a voice two octaves lower than it usually was. <em>How was he doing this? </em>„What seems to be the problem? I didn‘t miss a speed limit, did I?“</p><p> </p><p>„No, sir.“ the policeman said. He took a quick look into the car. „Morning, son. Uh, alright... Let‘s see...“ The officer‘s eyes seemed a little dull as he tried to remember why he had stopped them. „Oh yeah, that‘s right. Sir, your left brake light‘s out.“</p><p> </p><p>„Not again.“ Mike sighed. „Been having problems with the electrics for weeks. Thanks for the heads up, sir. I... I don‘t think I got a spare lamp on me right now.“</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s no problem.“ the policeman said. „Follow the road for about two miles, you‘re gonna come across a gas station. They should have everything you need. You guys headed for Indianapolis?“</p><p> </p><p>„Uh, yeah. Taking my nephew here back to my sister‘s place.“</p><p> </p><p><em>Nephew? </em>Will thought. No one in their right mind would look at Mike and seriously believe he was Will‘s uncle. Then maybe the officer wasn‘t in his right mind? Because he took that information as though there was nothing fishy about it. „Try to avoid Bakers Corner, sir. Had a pretty severe accident with a tanker there not two hours back. Road‘s still blocked as of now. I‘d say you rather go via Sheridan, unless you know the back roads.“</p><p> </p><p>„Will do. Thank you, officer.“ Mike said, still so very convincing in his role as an adult. How was this even possible? He was thirteen, for crying out loud. Voice usually jumping in pitch, not a hint of hair on his chin, and now this?</p><p> </p><p>„Drive safe, sir.“ The officer tipped his hat and went his way. Mike waited for a few more seconds, letting the police car pass them, before he fired up the engine again.</p><p> </p><p>He was grinning like a child who had just pulled off an elaborate ruse. Which was actually what had happened, so that was the least surprising part. „Yes!“ he cheered, with his voice going back to normal. „Aced it!“</p><p> </p><p>„How did you...“ Will had a hand on his chest now, feeling for the brutal pace of his heartbeat. „It‘s impossible. This didn‘t just happen!“</p><p> </p><p>„These aren‘t the droids you‘re looking for.“ Mike giggled. „The force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.“</p><p> </p><p>This was apparently all a game to Mike. A game that could cost Will his life, no less. „I want to know what just happened, Mike.“</p><p> </p><p>„More than you want to have a good time and watch a movie?“ Mike was looking straight ahead, not quite as cheerful anymore. „Look, we should probably fix that brake light, but other than that we're going to be good.“</p><p> </p><p>„Stop...“ Will choked. He didn‘t realize how close he was to tearing up. „Stop trying to deflect. I want to know how you did that.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike didn‘t stop staring at the road. When he sighed, long and heavy, he looked and sounded older than his thirteen years again. One hand on the wheel, the other found Will's shoulder. „I‘ll tell you. Eventually. Will, I... I really want you to have a good time today.“</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So you may have noticed we're nearing the end of this fic...<br/>Hey, I never said it was a long one. It's still easily one of my favorites. I think I'm going to rewrite the final chapter, though. That won't interfere with the update schedule if I get to it right away.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Between the sparkling lights of the arcade Mike found, the beeps and boops of video games, between the feeling of being stuffed like a turkey with Whoppers from Burger King, and the early afternoon screening of The Terminator, Will was flying. Quite literally, piggybacked by his friend in the streets of Indianapolis, running, sprinting, not caring what all those people who shot them weird gazes thought of them.</p><p> </p><p>They would play Q*bert, and Ms. Pac-Man, Dragon‘s Lair and Paperboy until Will couldn‘t see much more than fluorescent pixels dancing in front of his eyes. Mike‘s never-ending supply of quarters filled up the arcade machines during a time of day when they had the place almost to themselves. No one asked why they weren‘t at school.</p><p> </p><p>Will had never had that much to eat in one single day. Pop corn and Nachos with cheese at the arcade, then an array of things from the Burger King menu for lunch. Top that with ice cream in November, and yet neither of them were satisfied. „What‘s the point of having rich parents if not taking them to the cleaners?“ Mike laughed before buying another bucket of popcorn, this time from the theater.</p><p> </p><p>Will‘s sugar-levels were through the roof all the way back to Hawkins, rumbling down dark country roads in the van that, after this most amazing day in Will‘s life, could have been the president‘s property for all he cared. Whatever Mike had done to get his hands on the keys, it was worth it. „I think we got a few hours before you got to be home.“ Mike said at some point, probably just minutes away from Hawkins. „So I was thinking... hm... yes, right there. That looks perfect.“ He was pointing at an ancient complex of buildings by a bend in the road.</p><p> </p><p>„That‘s the old sawmill.“ Will said. „What were you thinking?“</p><p> </p><p>„Looks big enough.“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘re not thinking about going in there...“</p><p> </p><p>„No.“ Mike chuckled. „Really. But that parking lot looks pretty good.“</p><p> </p><p>„Good for what?“ Will asked. It really wasn‘t much of a parking lot to speak of. Just a quarter of an acre of gravel. Mike pulled over there and steered the van to the far side of it.</p><p> </p><p>„This ought to work.“ he mumbled. „So, Will... who do you think is going to teach you to drive? I mean, I don‘t know your old man, but I can‘t see that happening with him.“ Mike jumped out of the drivers seat then.</p><p> </p><p>„You want me to-?“ Will coughed. The idea of climbing behind the wheel of this thing didn‘t hold any fear for him per se, this just came so unexpected. If Will was being honest, it made him a little giddy.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘ll walk you through it. Don‘t worry, it‘s not like you could ruin this pile of trash any further.</p><p> </p><p>Will climbed across the gear lever and into the drivers seat while Mike walked around and got in on the other side. One thing Will noticed was that the steering wheel was larger than he had expected. It never looked like that with someone else driving. Probing, he tip-toed on the pedals a few times. „Okay, what do I do?“</p><p> </p><p>„First thing you wanna do...“ Mike explained „...is press the clutch in. Left pedal all the way to the floor and keep it there. And put your right foot on the brake. Just a good habit.“</p><p> </p><p>„Okay, got it.“ The clutch felt heavy under Will‘s foot, and keeping it down was a little uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>„You can start the engine now.“ Will turned the ignition key, and the engine gave him that whirring noise of the starter motor, but nothing else happened. „Again. Just keep it turned a little longer.“ On the second attempt, the engine came to life with a bang and rumbling vibrations that shook the interior of the van.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘ve got to let the clutch go, right?“</p><p> </p><p>„Easy, tiger.“ Mike chuckled. „Are you in first?“</p><p> </p><p>„I... uh...“ Unsure, Will wiggled the gear lever a little.</p><p> </p><p>„I left it in second.“ Mike said. „Left and up. That‘s right. Handbrake‘s still on, too.“ There was a multitude of things to do, stuff to consider, but with the correct gear selected and the handbrake loose, it was finally time. „Slowly off the clutch, and when the car starts moving you keep it there and give it a little gas. You want to- whoops.“</p><p> </p><p>„Crap.“ Will uttered the second the car made a jerk and then fell silent.</p><p> </p><p>„Don‘t worry. This stuff takes practice. Try again, just a bit slower.“</p><p> </p><p>The second attempt was still jerky, even more so when the car made a small leap forward and Will accidentally floored it. A second of panic followed, but that was over once Will took is feet off the pedals and just let it roll.</p><p> </p><p>Mike clapped his hands. „Good! Now easy on the gas, get some speed so you can shift up. Off the gas, clutch in, shift, off the clutch, back on the gas. Easy, right?“</p><p> </p><p>Easy... More like easier said than done. Will got the order all wrong, pulling a concerning grinding noise from the gearbox. In that case, three time‘s the charm, so it worked out eventually. „It‘s... hard.“ he complained, not without smirking. „Looks so easy when you do it.“</p><p> </p><p>„You didn‘t learn to ride a bike in five minutes, did you?“ Mike laughed.</p><p><br/>„Or a skateboard.“ Will added, grinning. „I should... maybe...“</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, you should turn the wheel. Unless you want to go across that road and into the gutter.“</p><p> </p><p>So Will ended up driving circles in the parking lot of the abandoned sawmill. He felt like he was definitely getting the hang of it, though when Mike asked - not ordered - if he wanted to take them back home, Will gave control back to his friend. There was just no way he would drive on public roads. In his opinion, they had already stressed their luck a little too much today.</p><p> </p><p>Mike drove them back to Maple Street in relative silence. Something, Will wasn‘t sure what, had definitely shifted the instant he got back in the passenger seat. Maybe it was just the finality. Will could feel it. This perfect day was now over. That would make anyone a little blue.</p><p> </p><p>„I don‘t suppose you want anything to eat?“ Mike offered. He parked the van right back where they had ‚found‘ it earlier, possibly for the actual owner to retrieve. „I know I‘m pretty full.“</p><p> </p><p>Will yawned. „I‘d have to force myself.“</p><p> </p><p>„Something to drink? I got coke... tea... a few beers... whatever you want.“</p><p> </p><p>Checking his watch, Will shrugged. There was still time. „Sure, why not?“</p><p> </p><p>They ended up having the beer - it just fit, Will thought, and according to Mike „Decadence is a virtue, Will. It‘s realizing that anything you‘re missing out on for too long will someday be gone forever. There are second chances... there might be third chances... but what then?“ He was obviously getting a bit tipsy there, but his words hit home either way.</p><p> </p><p>Will nodded, taking another small sip. <em>True</em>, he thought. And it was especially true for him. No arcades in hell. No movie theaters, no beer, no Mike. None of that.</p><p> </p><p>„How... how are you feeling, Byers?“ Mike whispered after a short silence.</p><p> </p><p>What was that supposed to mean? „Okay...?“ Will said.</p><p> </p><p>„Really? You‘re sort of- I don‘t know. Looking a bit sick again, I guess.“</p><p> </p><p>Will tried to clear his throat, and sure enough, it was still sore. „I s‘pose I‘m not quite through with it. Give it a day or two more. I‘ll try not to be a killjoy until then.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘ll walk you home when it‘s time, yeah?“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘re welcome to join me if you want.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m going to.“ Mike said in an attempt at a firm voice, that somehow failed. His tone worried Will. Sort of wavering, unsteady, perhaps just because of the beer. „There‘s- there‘s something I want you to promise me.“</p><p> </p><p>Will was not lying when he told Mike „I‘ll promise you anything.“ He did that so solemnly that Mike chuckled lowly.</p><p> </p><p>„You‘re making it sound like I want you to give an arm and a leg. It‘s simple, Will. Just come to me when...“</p><p> </p><p>„When?“ Will blinked a few times. His eyes were getting a little sore and dry.</p><p> </p><p>„If.“ Mike said. „If you get sick again. It‘s the flu season right now, and getting through it in just a day is sort of unusual. Your pa just won‘t care for you the way I would.“</p><p> </p><p>„Y-You‘re right. I promise.“</p><p> </p><p>„No matter what time of day?“</p><p> </p><p>„Promise.“ Will swallowed thickly. „Mike, what‘s wrong?“</p><p> </p><p>Blurry eyes staring right into Will‘s soul, Mike shrugged. „Nothing. Just wanted to make this clear.“ But something was wrong. That was at the definitive feeling Will got when Mike snaked an arm around him, pressed a small, tingling kiss at his jaw under his ear, and then rested his cheek on Will‘s shoulder.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike behaved weirdly. Not weirder or less weird than usual, just different-weird. Will had gotten to know him as a risk-taker. Someone bored with his situation, having never had the opportunity to grow roots in one place, meaning no distraction from the monotonous reality of being alone all day. What had they done together so far? It would have been easier to ask <em>what hadn‘t they done?</em></p><p> </p><p>But Mike, during the remainder of Will‘s week off from school, had fewer new ideas up his sleeve. It made sense, of course; Going outside, doing stuff in town was out of the question when Will was absent from school. Someone could have seen him. Will didn‘t actually mind being inside where it was warm, with snacks and drinks in front of the TV, enjoying the vast array of VHS tapes Mike‘s parents had collected. And still, Mike could have been at least his full-of-beans self, instead of this moody kid Will got to spend time with now.</p><p> </p><p>„Are you feeling okay?“ he asked Will, not once, not twice, but several times every day.</p><p> </p><p>To which Will always replied „Yeah, I guess.“, which earned him worried glances. He was being honest for the most part. The flu was still lingering somewhere within him, though it didn‘t worry him too much. How bad could it get, after all? A bit of a scratchy throat, maybe a few hours of sleep lost to a clogged nose. A headache here, a cough there... nothing Will wouldn‘t handle. He was sure Mike would take care of him if it got too bad - a selfish thought, and Will didn‘t care.</p><p> </p><p>What Will hated most about this time of year wasn‘t the cold. It was the way the sun would set before five in the afternoon, how it would stay dark until seven in the morning. That only seemed to press down further on Mike‘s mood. Especially after dark, he was just... not himself.</p><p> </p><p>They‘d had grog that night, apparently after an old Navy recipe from Mike‘s grandfather - with orange juice to fend off scurvy - and now Mike was just blankly staring at the TV screen without actually watching. The movie was Close Encounters of the Third Kind, which both of them knew by heart by now. They weren‘t even halfway through when Mike asked „Would you do it?“</p><p> </p><p>Will blinked a few times. „Would I do what?“</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause, as Mike took his time to rephrase. „Roy is gonna go with the aliens in the end. I mean, he always does.“</p><p> </p><p>„Obviously. The movie doesn‘t change, does it? So... you‘re asking if I would go?“ This was the sort of question you could ponder over for weeks on end, so Will couldn‘t quite give an answer right now.</p><p> </p><p>„I don‘t know if I would. I guess so.“ Mike mumbled. „Anything in particular about this world you‘d miss? I mean, probably not your pa.“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘d miss you.“ Will shrugged, though a little uncomfortable with the topic. „Reason enough to stay, even if it meant dealing with my dad for a few more years.“ He sort of knew this attitude would be put to the test many times - Will‘s back had just healed fully, or as fully as it still could.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps Will had said something wrong, because Mike all but crumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest, eyes closed, shook by full-body tremors.</p><p> </p><p>„M-Mike?“ Will inquired. „Come on, something-“ He didn‘t quite know what to do. When he touched his friend, that only seemed to make it worse. „If anything‘s wrong, you‘ve got to-“</p><p> </p><p>„Know what, Byers?“ Mike interrupted him. He suddenly stood up, wiped his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. „I think I need some air. You in?“</p><p> </p><p>Will pressed Stop on the VHS remote. „Absolutely.“ he sighed. It was just getting too warm in this living room, especially after two mugs of a hot rum-water-OJ mix that was fit to warm up a navy sailor for a night on the Atlantic. To his jacket he added a hat, just so no one would recognize him.</p><p> </p><p>It would not have been necessary; Hawkins was deserted already, this little town in Indiana, where nothing bad ever happened. Or so the people thought. What would they say if they found out there was a boy, alone in a large house, abandoned by his parents, jumping in front of trains, stealing cars, drinking... And what would they say if they found out about Will and his ‚family‘?</p><p> </p><p>„They‘re ignorant.“ Mike said. „Because they want to be. They wouldn‘t do jack shit if they found out, Will.“</p><p> </p><p>„How did you know what I was thinking?“ Will pulled his collar up against the wind.</p><p> </p><p>„Intuition?“ Mike suggested. He was speaking wearily, and wise beyond his years. „Or maybe I was thinking the same. They‘re all so comfortable in their sheltered worlds. As long as they‘re not under attack, they can just buy themselves a larger TV, give a few bucks to cancer research, a box of clothes to Goodwill, and they‘ll feel accomplished. Fuck them.“ Those last words came out a bit too loud for Will‘s taste; They were in the middle of town, after all.</p><p> </p><p>„I don‘t think I need them to care. I mean, I got you, don‘t I?“ It felt like the right thing to say, but apparently, it wasn‘t. Mike quickened his pace so Will could barely keep up. „Mike, what‘s wrong? I‘ve never seen you like-“</p><p> </p><p>„Yeah, well, you‘ve only known me for a few weeks.“ Mike spat bitterly.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike!“ Will yelled, but Mike dashed on, and no amount of shouting or trying to hold him had any sort of effect. Not until he was halfway across the Hawkins High football field, that was lying in total darkness. All this while, something dawned on Will, and he could finally articulate it then. „Do you have to leave?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike was frozen in place. Only his head leaned to the side as his swollen eyes landed on Will.</p><p> </p><p>„Because if that‘s it... if your parents want to move you again, I‘m coming along. I‘m not staying here.“</p><p> </p><p>„And how would you pull that off?“</p><p> </p><p>„You‘d tell me where you‘re going, I‘d take the bus. Do you really think your parents would notice? They haven‘t been home once since we first met.“ Will had made up his mind in a second. Without Mike, he wouldn‘t stay in Hawkins. He could have a better life, no matter where he would end up after. He could do whatever he wanted. Drop out of school, drink, smoke, as long as it was fun, because hell was waiting either way.</p><p> </p><p>Mike smiled, though it was the most pained smile Will had ever seen. „Yeah, you‘d do that.“ His gaze began scanning their surroundings. He finally pointed at the bleachers, and Will nodded. They climbed right to the very top. „How are you feeling?“ Mike asked again, perhaps it had just become a habit by now.</p><p> </p><p>„Tired.“ Will admitted. He sniffed. „A bit sick. Are you going to tell me what‘s bothering you, or do you want me to keep guessing?“</p><p> </p><p>Mike leaned his head back. „I just get like that sometimes. I... I thought I could keep it together until you left, but apparently not. Sorry you had to witness it.“</p><p> </p><p>If Mike realized how much this hurt Will, he didn‘t show it. It was just that the idea of Mike, alone with his thoughts in a huge, empty house, was too much to handle. „Well, not I‘m never going to leave. I‘ll just move in with you.“</p><p> </p><p>Mike snorted. „Now you‘re sounding like a little kid. If you want to run away from home, you better pack two chocolate bars and your favorite stuffed animal.“</p><p> </p><p>Will laughed. Hysterically. Mike laughed too. Until he didn‘t. It was impossible to tell where laughing ended and crying began, but again he pulled his knees up, closed his eyes, and then he was absolutely shook with ugly sobs that echoed on the empty football field below them. But this time, Will‘s touch didn‘t startle him.</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m sorry.“ Mike said weakly. „I‘m sorry. I‘m sorry.“ Over and over and over, and Will couldn‘t do anything to make it better. Nothing he did or said made any difference. „I‘m sorry. I‘m sorry, Will. I can‘t help it.“</p><p> </p><p>„What do you mean?“</p><p> </p><p>But there were no answers for Will that night.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well...<br/>I'm making it one chapter more. The original plan was that 15 was supposed to be the final chapter, and 16 the epilogue. But, as I mentioned a few days ago, I've re-written the final chapter. It got way longer than a regular chapter, so I'm splitting it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had the pillow pressed against his mouth, but alas, it was no use. The thing was old, just a lump of cotton and down that smelled bad, and soon it was full of dark brown mucus too. It came out of Will in violent convulsions of his stomach, left a bitter taste that he tried to wash away with tap water. The flu had hit him again like a train, and everything hurt. He would go to Mike, just as promised. Just not now. Not yet. The TV was still going in the living room, beer cans hissed, and Will tried to use every little noise to time his coughs as best as he could. Still, the pillow did little to muffle them, so they were always followed by silent fear.</p><p> </p><p>His nose was running pathetically, to the point of leaking on his shirt. The worst part, though, was that everything hurt. The joints in his body, his limbs, his head. Everything was filled with a pulsing, dull pain that left him exhausted and hardly able to move. „You had better stay away from me, boy. Or this is gonna be the last flu of your worthless life.“ dad had snarled in a moment of clarity between swigs from his bottle. He had swung the bottle at Will, but slow enough so he could dodge and keep his distance. „And stop that coughing, it‘s getting on my nerves. Shit, I swear I get why she did it.“</p><p> </p><p>Will had then curled up on his bed, having decided to do the dishes sometime later, or perhaps in the morning. Through blurred-over eyes he stared at the photo of his mother, wondering if she would have taken care of him like Mike did. But Will was just too needy. Few people were indulgent enough to put up with him and his paltry little ailments.</p><p> </p><p>More coughs, this time louder, tore through Will‘s body, and this time, they were just a little too loud. Not timed with any explosions or gunshots from his dad‘s police drama. The door flung open, it crashed into the wall, where the knob left a dent. After that, it even hung crooked in its hinges, something Will would have to fix. „Didn‘t I tell you to be quiet? Tryin‘ to sleep, you little shit!“ dad hollered. „What, you think it‘s easy? Working every fucking day of the week to put food on the table? You‘re spending the night in the shed if you can‘t shut your face!“</p><p> </p><p>„S‘not like I can help it.“ Will mumbled in an unprecedented act of stupidity.</p><p> </p><p>„What was that?“ And there it was again, that belt in the man‘s hand, clashing with the door frame. „What. Was. That?“</p><p> </p><p>„I said...“ Will rose up from the bed. <em>No more</em>, he thought. <em>No more, no more, no more. Never again.</em> Something deep inside of him, an eerie feeling that seemed to remove him from reality, told him that this was the end. A sense of certainty washed over him. „I said it‘s not like I can help it. But that just makes it better for you, huh?“</p><p> </p><p>„Be... very... careful...“ dad all but panted. He was trembling with wrath.</p><p> </p><p>„You be careful.“ Will said lowly, in a voice that didn‘t seem to be his own. „And be glad that you couldn‘t sleep. I was gonna cut your throat from ear to ear tonight.“</p><p> </p><p>Will hardly felt a thing when the belt came down hard across his face. The impact did have him tumbling, though, and his dad wasted no time. „This time you‘re done for!“ he growled. „You‘re dead, you hear me? Dead!“ The usual routine came, just turned up to eleven, and soon Will‘s sheets were bloody. But he laughed. It was dry laughter, raspy from his hurting throat, and it only infuriated his dad further. He tired himself out. Something that usually resulted in Will losing consciousness - but not this time. The last blow was weak, his dad‘s face beet red.</p><p> </p><p>And Will got his hands on the belt. He didn‘t let go. „Huge... mistake...“ his father wheezed. He got Will by the throat, picked him up like that and held him up against the wall. „Sendin‘ you to your whore mother now.“ What he hadn‘t thought about was Will‘s desk, and the pair of scissors on it. Will used what little strength he had left to reach out for them. There was blood, <em>so much blood</em>. First, it was just Will‘s. Then, when the scissors pierced his father‘s wrist, going straight through, his was added to the pool. He howled like a hurt wolf and lost his grip on Will.</p><p> </p><p>There was no time to think. No time to recover from almost being choked to death. All that Will grabbed was the photo of his mom, nothing else. He would leave everything behind now, knowing that this was the last time he would ever see this house. Will ran as fast as his bare feet would carry him. „You‘re goin‘ to hell, boy!“ his father shouted into the night.</p><p> </p><p>Will stopped one final time, knowing that he was far enough to be safe. „I know!“ he yelled back. He looked at the man there in the open door, hunched over with a pair of scissors driven through his forearm. „I‘ll be seeing you there!“</p><p> </p><p>When he began running again, he was aware that it could kill him. He was cold, probably with a high fever, beaten bloody. But if he could just get to Mike alive, everything would be okay. The thought kept him going when the forest ground tore up the soles of his feet. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, and a few weeks ago he might not have found the way in this condition.</p><p> </p><p>Now that he knew it by heart, he almost rain straight for the door. But just almost. Something was off...</p><p> </p><p>The house. That large two-story family home, neatly painted white, with the perfectly trimmed grass in the front yard, wasn‘t there anymore. Or it was there, Will recognized the shape of it, the angles of the roof and the huge windows - but it was... changed. Not the same anymore. Where there had been fresh paint yesterday, there were just rotten wooden planks with flakes of paint stuck to them. Where there had been a brand new roof, ox blood red, the tiles were now brown, weathered and with holes in between.</p><p> </p><p>Will‘s hands were trembling. This couldn‘t be true. It was just the fever making him dream up some horrible illusion. He didn‘t, he <em>couldn‘t </em>take it seriously. Though the inside looked no better. The front door, close to falling apart, creaked. Inside there was no light. And there was no carpet, no furniture. Just darkness, dust, mold. „M-Mike?“ Will called meekly. „Mike, I‘m here.“ No answer. „Mike... Mike, please.“ Still, nothing. It was all so out of place. Because with all the decay, the boarded up windows, Will found the TV. He found the VHS player, too. They were <em>there</em>. And so was the microwave in the kitchen. Brand new devices, all placed in a house that was falling apart.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike...“ Will was now sobbing. He wouldn‘t be able to go on much longer. In his chest, something had burst, and from that spot panic was radiating into his fingertips. „Please, I... I need you!“ He went up the stairs too, where the scent of old wood and mold was almost getting unbearable. Will had smelled it once before, he realized. But all the rooms were next to empty. Even Mike‘s bedroom, that only had a bed in it.</p><p> </p><p>Will saw images flash in front of his inner eye. Images of himself, all alone in this ruin of a house. Watching movies <em>alone</em>. Sleeping in this bed <em>alone</em>. Talking to none but <em>himself</em>. He refused these images. It hadn‘t been imagination. None of it. Will would know - he wasn‘t crazy. He stumbled into the hall again, wanting to make it to the bathroom, because he felt like throwing up. But his stomach was empty, and just a few drops of vile tasting acid dripped on the floor, and through a hole into the room below.</p><p> </p><p>„Mike!“ Will cried. „H-Help!“ He all but crawled down the stairs. Only one place left to check. The basement door opened on its own. It just slowly inched open right in front of Will‘s eyes. And he went in. It was so wonderfully warm down there. And it smelled good too, just like Mike had smelled when Will had curled into him in the middle of the night. „Mike? Where are you?“</p><p> </p><p>At the end of the stairs, Will was finally done. He couldn‘t stand anymore. It was over. „Mike...“</p><p> </p><p>„I‘m here, Will.“ the darkness whispered.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I felt this cliffhanger was worth the little bit of extra work.</p><p>NOTE: FROM HERE ON YOU WILL BE ABLE TO CHOOSE YOUR ENDING!</p><p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22920373/chapters/54786622">Sad Ending</a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933525/chapters/54818443">Good Ending</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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